


In Pursuit of Revolution

by Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Dark City (1998)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Revolutionary Girl Utena Fusion, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Sexual Submission, Prostitution, Service Submission, Submission, Suicide, canon suicide only, everyone ends up happy I promise, except poor walenski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: John Murdoch wakes up with no past, a missing wife, and a list of names. Finding answers to his questions proves far stranger than anticipated, when the pursuit of them involves strange duels and a mysterious blond-haired doctor that claims to be his property....





	1. John Murdoch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NaNo, unbetad/unedited. Full of smut. :D

_"Forgive me," his lover begs in a whisper, fingers tight in his hair. Rose-petal soft lips press to his. They taste like tears. Fingers twine with his, then close around the ring on his finger, pulling it off. "Forgive me, John. I love you...."_

... forgive what?

John opened his eyes, and for a moment nothing existed but the remnants of the dream, a heartache so vivid that he sobbed aloud. I forgive you, he wanted to say, but he was alone - alone in unpleasantly lukewarm bath water in a dingy bathroom. Alone and... what was he to forgive? And who? A lover?

He pressed wet fingers to his lips, trying to cling to the memory of kisses. 

_I love you_

Nothing surfaced, followed by... nothing.

Confusion bloomed into panic as his mind searched for some kind of anchor, some explanation for how he'd ended up there. Or what had happened before, or before that - the more he grasped for meaning, the more everything slipped away, leaving the black emptiness of nothing. His name, John - John what? 

John who?

His pulse fluttered wildly against his ears as he pulled himself from the bath, chest painfully tight. The tiled floor was wet, slippery, but he barely noticed, sliding across the room to finally reach the vanity. There, a face stared back at him that, if not reassuringly familiar, at least seemed somehow right. John wiped the mirror clean with his palm, letting out a huffed breath of relief.

There was a towel, hanging from a hook on the back of the bathroom door, and a bathrobe. He used both, then stepped outside, finding himself alone in the darkened main room of a small apartment. The wall sconce beside the door and the light above the kitchen sink did little to illuminate the room beyond identifying a brown linoleum floor, the paint and paper on the walls and the kitchen cabinets the same dull shade of blue gray. The windows along and over the dining alcove were the most remarkable thing about it, but when he crossed the room to look outside the city beyond was just as unfamiliar, the buildings dark shapes against the darker night sky.

Was this home?

The sideboard beside the leather easy chair held a framed photo with his face and a dark haired woman, her hair adorned with white flowers and net. A wedding veil, something told him, with a blurred remembrance of a small bouquet clutched in her hands. _City hall_. His wife?

The small dining table in the alcove held an ashtray, half full, and a cigarette pack. He'd taken one out and lit it with the ragged pack of matches before he'd thought twice about it; clearly, that was his. A dog-eared postcard sat next to it with artwork of some seaside destination, and he flipped it over.

_John,_  
_I can't forgive myself for being untrue. I hope in time you will be able to. Until then, we should take some time apart. Please don't seek me out until you can be quite sure that you forgive me._  
_All my love,_  
_Emma_

A wife, unfaithful. The postcard brought nothing to mind, though he read it over twice, trying to imagine the woman in the photo in the arms of another man. He threw it back down on the table and picked up the ashtray instead, taking it with him as he searched through the room methodically, finding drawers and cupboards empty of everything but a few dishes.

The small bedroom held a little more. The wallet in the pocket of the pants strewn on the bed gave him a last name. Murdoch. The closet held a few more clothes, all men's, the hangers next to them empty. The bottom drawer next to the bed held a crude notebook fashioned of cardboard and paper tied together, the cover decorated with crayon fish and a few glued-on seashells.

_A Guide to Shell Beach by Johnny Murdoch._

Inside, though, the pages were blank, the first one ripped almost clear away. Another dead end.

The panic that he'd felt upon waking had abated into a deep sense of unease. Something was _wrong_ , he ought to _remember_. Still carrying the book and the ashtray, he went back into the kitchen, sinking down into one of the chairs, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he leafed through the blank pages again.

Shell Beach. The same as the sign on the front of the postcard. That triggered some vague recollection; sunshine, the sea shore. Home. He turned to the missing front page again, cigarette dangling between two fingers as he ran the tips along the jagged edge. Had it held some clue to his past, his identity? Or had it simply been ripped away to write a grocery list?

The ash on the end of his cigarette, neglected, fell onto the paper, Irritated, he stubbed it out in the tray, trying brush the ash from the page and only succeeding in smearing it across the paper, dirtying the page with an uneven streak of gray.

There was something there, he realized with a shock of excitement. Dents from writing that had been on the page above. Quickly he dumped more ash onto the page with little care as to where it went, brushing it over the surface of the paper until he could make out the words.

A list. Four names, the first three crossed out.

_Bumstead. Jensen. Husselbeck. Walenski._

_Walenski._

He flipped the page and wrote them down again, realizing as he wrote the last few letters that the hand was the same. His list, then. Who were these men? He'd scratched two out; who was Walenski? He could remember nothing but a sense of determined rage. Was this the man his wife had been unfaithful with?

Well. There was only one way to find out.

~~~

John tore the first two pages from the book, throwing the ash-rubbed one away and tucking the new list into the breast pocket of the trenchcoat in the wardrobe by the front door. He found a business card with "Eleven Central Lounge" printed on it. Well, that was easy enough to find. 

It was a little after one when he left the apartment, the streets still busy with traffic, people hurrying to and fro, collars turned up against the late night chill. There was a poster outside the club when he arrived, artwork of a jazz band and a beautiful, dark haired woman in a purple gown holding a microphone. Was that supposed to be Emma?

"She's not in tonight, honey." The dark-haired waitress at the front gave him a sympathetic smile. "She's been hoping you'd stop by, though. Want me to tell her you were here?"

John remembered the whisper. _"Forgive me...."_ But how could he forgive anything he didn't remember? He shook his head. "Hey, do you know if there's a guy that comes here named Walenski?"

"Walenski?" The waitress's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't think so... wait, there was that police detective poking around the other day. Hang on a minute, honey."

John nodded, looking over the dimly lit bar as he waited, trying to find some familiarity in the sea of faces, the low rumble of voices and the sound of the piano in the back. Moments later the waitress was pressing another card into his fingers.

_Detective Walenski. 53 Precinct._

It, as well, was easy enough to find, though as he climbed the stairs it occurred to him that he didn't know _how_ he'd know how to find it, only that he had. He pushed open the door slowly, and the young officer at the front desk jerked his head up to look at him, staring for a long moment before finding his tongue. "Can I help you?"

John approached the desk slowly, glancing down at his name tag. _Husselbeck_. His pulse skipped a beat. Do I know you? He wanted to ask, but that part wasn't important. Not as important as the last name on the list. "I'm here to see Walenski."

Husselbeck seemed to pause a moment before responding, voice carefully measured. "Can I ask what it is in regards to?"

"It's about a case he's working on." John produced the card. "He left this at the Eleven Central Lounge." It wasn't entirely a lie.

Husselbeck regarded the card for a moment, then nodded. "Follow me, please."

The precinct was an orderly bullpen lined with offices enclosed with frosted glass. Husselbeck pushed open a door marked DETECTIVE Walenski and motioned him inside. "Please, have a seat. Or..." he stopped, regarding the office - a mess of towering papers and overflowing drawers, old pizza boxes, dirty coffee mugs and things that John didn't want to have to identify. "... just wait, please."

John nodded, stepping into the office and finding a clear patch of floor to stand in beside the desk. How could anyone work like this? And was this really the man his wife had left him for? John scanned the room as he waited. Newspaper articles and copies of police reports were taped up to the glass and to cork boards around the room, the papers half crumpled, stained with rings from coffee cups. They were all reports of dead bodies, but nothing seemed the same about them beyond the fact that they were dead. Stranger were the pages of notes, most with large, swirling spirals drawn on them with a heavy hand, inked around and around so many times that some had torn holes in the paper. Spirals on spirals on spirals....

"Can I help you?"

John turned to find a tall man at the door in a three piece suit, soft brown hair streaked with grey at the temples. Husselbeck hovered silently behind him. "Walenski?"

The man's brows furrowed, regarding him strangely for a moment before seemingly recovering, schooling his emotions away to careful blankness. He stepped into the office and offered his hand to John. "No, I'm afraid I'm his superior, Inspector Frank Bumstead. And you are?"

 _Bumstead_. Why did he have a list full of police officers? John took the offered hand, the clasp firm and sure but brief. "John. Murdoch. Where's Walenski?"

"I was hoping you might know." The corners of Bumstead's mouth quirked up, bemused. "He's been missing for two days.

Two days. John felt a surge of dread in the pit of his stomach. Had they run off together, this man and his wife? "Where?"

"If I knew where, I wouldn't need to ask you, now, would I? You said he left you a card at the Eleven Central Lounge. Did he say why?"

John hesitated, wondering if he should trust this man, wondering if he should make up some lie. "No. I'm sorry. I was hoping he might know where I could find my wife."

Bumstead raised an eyebrow, voice careful, and behind him, Husselbeck stiffened visibly. "Your wife?"

"Emma Murdoch."

"I see." Was it John's imagination, or did both of them relax? "Do you have reason to believe she's missing or in danger?"

"No, but...."

"Then we will leave a message for Walenski for you. If he happens to show up here. Good day, Mr. Murdoch." The man turned, and John felt a spike of panic, starting after him.

"Wait. Wait, Bumstead - "

"Inspector," Husselbeck corrected pointedly, putting out an arm against the doorway of the office to stop him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Murdoch. We can't help you."

"You can, and you know it," John hissed, struggling to get past him, yelling after Bumstead. "Inspector! Bumstead! I know you know something, you can't just leave me - "

"Please keep your voice down." The inspector said, quiet and hard, as he turned back and closed the space between them. He pushed John back into the office with a hand on his chest, closing the door behind them, voice a low hiss. "You shouldn't be here, Murdoch. You shouldn't remember - you shouldn't be looking for Walenski."

"I don't remember anything!" John said, the truth spilling out in desperation. "I woke up with nothing but a paper with his name and a driver's license that said my name was John! My wife is gone and I don't know who I am and I... please, you have to help me!"

Bumstead's lips parted to a soft intake of breath as he spoke, and he stared at John intently. "You can't remember... anything?"

John shook his head, trying to keep from trembling. "I don't - I can't - I just need to find her. I just need to know why she left me. Walenski's the only clue I have. Please...."

Bumstead let out a long breath, expression softening. "I don't know what went wrong," he said finally, giving a little shake of his head. "I can't tell you why you don't remember. I can only tell you that Walenski doesn't matter anymore. He can't help you find Emma, John. Go home and forget about him. Go about your life. She'll come back to you in time. Forget about all this." He glanced back at the door, then lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "Trust me. If you can't remember then it's for the best."

John stared at him in astonishment. "How can you say that?"

"Please," Bumstead said again. "Go home, Mr. Murdoch. Or I will have you escorted there."

This time when Bumstead left the office Officer Husselbeck stepped in to catch John's arm, fingers tight around his elbow. "Please don't make a scene, Mr. Murdoch. Come quietly."

For a moment John resisted. How had he come so far only to be turned away? But perhaps this was why both Bumstead and Husselbeck's names had been scratched off his list. Both men were clearly dead ends, and surely Jensen was too, whoever he was. Time to move on.

"I'm going," he muttered, shaking his arm free of the young officer's grasp. "I'm going, okay? Thanks for nothing."

Outside again, in the chill of the night, he stopped on the sidewalk in front of the precinct and looked about helplessly. The precinct was a dead end. Walenski hadn't been there in two days. Would the man really lead him to Emma? John closed his eyes and tried to think, tried to place the faces of the two men he'd just met in his memory. Should he have pressed them harder, asked them more questions? He'd met them before, he was certain of that now. The why and how and where of it were lost to him, blank holes in the blackness of his memory. There was a sense of finality to them, like they didn't matter anymore. Was that an impression he'd formed from seeing their names scratched out, or was there some other reason for it?

No, Walenski was the only one that mattered now. Somehow, he had to find him. He had to see this through. He started down the street away from the precinct, and as his eyes fell upon a phone booth, an idea came to him in a rush of excitement.

Walenski. How many Walenskis could there be in the city? He darted into the phone booth and leafed through the heavy book with trembling fingers. Only five Walenskis, it turned out, one marked E & K. 3220A 8th Street West. He tore the page from the book and hailed a taxi.

The ride was longer than he'd expected, across the river and out into the outskirts, the skyscrapers growing smaller, closer together. The cab driver had a snow globe on his dashboard with artwork in it like the postcard from Emma. _Shell Beach_. "Do you know how to get there?" John asked, trying to summon the pieces of memory that the postcard had brought back. The sunshine. The sea. The cab driver rambled on about the different routes to get there, but couldn't seem to settle on which on was correct, so John blocked him out, staring out the window instead as they drove.

Finally he was exiting the cab, climbing the steps of 3220A. His watch read quarter to three and the windows were shuttered, but he thought he could see the faint outline of light behind them, brighter light shining from the window on the second floor. After several minutes of knocking the front door finally opened to a harried looking woman, her eyes deeply shadowed.

"Please keep it down!" she hissed. "He doesn't like the noise, he doesn't - "

"Walenski?" John pressed. "Is he here? I need to see him. Bumstead - Frank sent me."

The woman's lips pressed together, and after a moment she gave a quick, terse nod. "He's here. But I can't - you really shouldn't, please - he's in one of his moods. Please - "

John pushed past her before she could say more, climbing the stairs towards the second level towards the lighted room. "Walenski!"

Through the open door, the bright overhead light in the room illuminated a blond man in a brown suit, perched on a stool, writing in an open book on his lap. The man's head jerked up at the sound of John's voice, his gaze turning towards the stairs. Then he froze, staring at John with blue eyes wide despite the scar that marred one eyelid, his expression caught between astonishment and terror.

For a moment John couldn't move either, staring. This was Walenski? That didn't feel right. But he knew this man somehow, he knew - 

"John." The man's lips formed his name, a barely audible whisper. He sucked in a sharp breath. "No, please - "

"Pay attention!" yelled another man in the room, and a boot sailed through the air to clock the man in the head, knocking his wire-rimmed glasses askew. 

The blond cried out in pain, and John felt a surge of anger, so sudden and strong that he was up the rest of the stairs in a bound, pushing his way into the room. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Murdoch?" On the other side of the room, a dark-haired man stood perched on a stool, hands and face covered in smudges from the piece of charcoal held in his hand. Scribbled notes and drawings covered the walls and ceiling, and John caught a glimpse of dark, shadowy figures and spirals upon spirals. Then he was ducking as the piece of charcoal sailed through the air at his head, holding up his arms to protect himself as the man charged at him. "What the hell are you doing here? Get the hell out of my house! You can't have him, I won him fair and square!"

"Eddie, stop!" The blond man grabbed for his shoulder, trying to pull him back as they grappled. "Please - John is just leaving, he's leaving - " He cried out in pain as Walenski shoved him back hard, stumbling over the stool and crashing back into the wall.

"Like hell I'm leaving!" John took advantage of the distraction to shove Walenski back into the room, kicking the door closed behind him. "I'm here for answers, Walenski, and I'm not leaving until I have them. Start talking!"

"You think we're not all looking for answers?" Walenski sneered, staring up at him. "You had your chance, Murdoch. It's my turn now. I won fair and square."

Anger and jealousy burned in John's core, hotter than anything he'd felt since he'd woken up. So it was true, then. "You took my wife."

"I won fair and square," Walenski repeated again. "And you couldn't beat me even if you challenged me again, so go home and lick your wounds, Murdoch!"

"John please -- this isn't about Emma - " the man on the floor tried to say, and Walenski whirled to shove the smaller man back against the wall in front of John, a hand at his throat. 

"Did I say you could speak to him, bride?" he yelled, pushing hard as the blond man tried to pull his fingers from his throat. "He's not your champion, I am! He can't have you!"

" _Let go of him!_ " The rage that bloomed inside John was so strong that for a moment he didn't know what was happening, only that he was yelling, that Walenski was flying back, smashing into the wall so hard that the drywall cracked and crumbled from the impact.

The blond man crumpled, gasping, and John moved to help him to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"No," the man rasped, eyes bright as he looked up at him. "No. It's not supposed to - you're not supposed to - "

"Get away from him," Walenski said again, pushing himself up off the floor, brushing drywall from his shoulders. "Whatever the hell you just did, you can't have Schreber unless you win the duel."

"He's not -- dueling," the man - Schreber - gasped, trembling visibly in John's grasp. "Eddie, please - "

"I just want answers," John said, and Eddie snorted, eyes glittering as he looked up at him.

"Don't we all. I'll see you at midnight at the center street arena. If you want answers, you have to win. I'll kick your ass again just like I did last night."

_Last Night. Eddie stands over him, face clean of smudges, dressed in some strange black jacket with gold trim, like some kind of military uniform. He draws back, sword in hand -_

"John's not challenging you," Schreber rasped, but John straightened to look Walenski in the eye. 

Whatever was happening, and whether or not it had to do with his missing wife, he'd been right to seek out Walenski. He had to see it through. "Of course I'm challenging you." 

Schreber gave a soft, helpless moan. Then he straightened, looking up at John as he reached out to take one of his hands, pressing John's fingers closed around a small, hard object. "Your challenge to the Champion is recognized," he said, and though he spoke soft and low there was a strange, resonance vibrance to his words, a thrum John could feel in his bones. "Challenger who seeks the power of revolution, arrive at the arena at the center before the last stroke of midnight. Then you will have your chance." He hesitated a moment, blue eyes imploring. "John... please, go home and rest...."

"Enough." Walenski pulled him back - more gently this time, but firmly. "We have work to do. Out, Murdoch."

Not knowing how else to react, John let himself be pushed out onto the landing, the door to the room shut firmly in front of him, then locked. He looked down at the object in his hand, and a silver ring glinted back at him in the darkness. It made no more sense than anything else had that night. But he'd found Walenski. Whatever strange challenge he'd just agreed to... he had to see it through.

Shoving the ring on a finger, he started downstairs and out into the night again. Midnight would come again soon enough.

~~~


	2. The Bride

Beyond its tall iron fence, the featureless, concrete walls of the Arena at Center and Main stretched up for stories, curving around the circular building as he approached. A promenade ran along the topmost story, but it was dark; nothing was happening at the arena tonight.

As John crossed the street, part of him wondered if he'd dreamed the exchange with Walenski and the strange blond man. Schreber. A challenge, a duel? It all seemed completely ridiculous. But what else did he have to go on but this? If Walenski was telling the truth... if getting answers about his past, about Emma required winning some kind of duel... 

As he made his way up the path towards the main gates of the arena, a figure stepped out of the shadows beside them, pale skin in sharp relief in the darkness to his long dark coat and hat. "Mr. Murdoch. We did not expect to see you again so soon."

Anger flared hot at his words, and John rushed at him. "Again? Are you behind this? Who are you? Why don't I remember anything, what have you done to me?"

The man in black stepped aside so deftly that it were almost as if he'd disappeared. "The rules are simple, Mr. Murdoch. The answers you seek are at the center. But you must win this duel, and every one beyond. Eternity is something that must be earned. So take your weapon and go. Onward and inward, yes?"

The gates to the arena flew open with a bang; when John turned back, the man in black had disappeared. Had he imagined it? And what the hell was this about weapons?

One of the bars of the wrought iron gates looked loose; a strong tug was enough for it to come free in his hand. The curling design at the end could make it a club, he thought, giving it an experimental swing through the air as he started through the open gates. Then his mind went back to that flash of memory, of Walenski. 

No, he needed a sword. He turned the bar around, the curling shapes forming a guard. Yes, that felt right.

The gates clanged shut behind him without him touching them, but it didn't startle him a second time. The doors to the arena stood closed before him, strangely ornate, more dark, curling iron set with silver, a single lever gleaming bright in the dim light. Curling his fingers around the bar, he felt something click into place, and realized that the ring Schreber had pressed into his hands had turned, the strange, spiraling engraving locking into the handle. It turned easily, the doors pushing open ahead of him, giving way to a seemingly endless staircase down into the ground running along the wall of the arena.

Onwards and inwards.

A faint light began to illuminate the staircase as he made his way down, blue and cold, barely enough to see by at first. The air grew colder, too, though as John continued down he realized that his long trench coat was gone - or perhaps it was transformed? - into something slim-fitting and sleek, a dark coat buttoned across his chest, trimmed in gold, long tails fluttering behind him as he walked.

As if the night couldn't get any stranger, he began to hear a faint sound. At first he thought it the sound of hundreds of typewriters, but as he descended it became too irregular, too... organic. Finally the wall opened up in front of him, and John stared up in amazement. The center of the arena was ringed with stands, where hundreds of people just like the strange man in the black coat stood, making the clicking, chittering sound to each other as if... conversing? How were they so pale? Surely it had to be the light?

At the far side of the arena, above the stands, the giant statue of a face hung, the cold light glinting off its metal surface. As he stared the statue split in two, swinging out and open to reveal a gigantic clock, glowing green, the hands reaching midnight with a booming chime and stopping.

The strange clicking noise around him grew in intensity, but John's attention turned to the man on the other side of the arena. Walenski, dressed as he'd been in that strange flash of memory. As John somehow was now, in the slim-fitting black military coat with the the long tails. Beside him, John recognized the blond man who'd been in his house. Schreber. The dusty brown suit was replaced with a coat even more resplendent than the strange ones he and Walenski wore, black velvet fitted to the waist, then flaring out to the knee, trimmed in curlicues of gold braid as bright as the wire-rims of his round glasses. Two white roses were tucked in the breast pocket, bright against the dark velvet.

"You won't win," Walenski said, holding a hand out towards Schreber. "Give me the sword. Let's get this over with so we can get back to work. I'm getting out of this place, and he's not going to stop me."

Behind Schreber, the darkness shifted, three more figures in the trailing black coats stepping out of the shadows. No, four - three and a child. John squinted. Was the first the man who'd spoken to him outside? One of them held forth a leather doctor's bag, opening the clasp, and Schreber pulled out something golden and metal, the strange blue light glinting off intricate detail. The hilt of a sword, John realized, as Schreber dropped to a knee, holding it out to the shadowy figures with bowed head.

"Masters of the arena, please grant your champion the power to pursue eternity."

"We grant it," one said, and as John stared the hilt shifted - no, _grew_ \- a shining steel blade springing forth that Walenski snatched from his hand even before Schreber could rise.

"Give us the roses. Get on with it!"

Schreber's lips pressed tightly together, but he said nothing as he pulled one of the roses from his breast pocket, pinning it carefully to Walenski's. He drew the other as he started towards John, gaze flicking up to his. "The duel is not lethal," he murmured, fingers gentle on his chest as he pinned it into place, "but it is everything. If you hope to win, protect the rose with your life. If you lose your rose, you lose everything."

John tightened his fingers around the bar. "I'm not about to do that."

"Don't talk to him!" Walenski shouted, and Schreber scurried back, retreating to the shadowy figures, casting a single glance back over his shoulder, guarded and unreadable.

A single figure stood below the clock, voice booming out across the arena. "Let the Duel Commence."

Almost before John could think, Walenski was rushing at him, sword raised. John barely managed to bring the bar up in time to meet him, meeting the blade of the sword with a screeching clang, metal grinding against itself, shuddering up his arm.

"You're not going to win!" Walenski yelled again, drawing back and swinging again in a hard, driving arc, then again, so fast and hard that it was all that John could do to parry, flakes of iron going flying each time the sword found its mark. "You're just wasting my time!"

"If I'm wasting your time, just tell me what I want to know!" John shouted back, managing to duck his next swing and trying for the rose at his breast. "Tell me what the hell this all is! Tell me where Emma is!"

"Emma?" Walenski gave a hard laugh as he lunged again, the bright edge of the blade arching through the air, and John barely managed to jump aside, whirling, parrying another flurry of blows "You know absolutely nothing! This isn't about a woman, this isn't even about the Bride! This is about getting the hell out of this place! And no one - not you! Not anyone! Is going - to - stop - me!"

The bar in his hands shuddered with each blow, finally crumbling. John jerked back from the arch of Walenski's blade, bringing up his free hand to cover the rose without thinking, crying out at the bloom of pain as the tip caught his skin.

"Don't be an idiot!" Walenski yelled, jerking back. "You want me to cut your damn hand off? You've lost! Give me the rose!"

"I won't!" John gasped, angling it away from him, bringing the remains of the iron gate bar between them. All the frustration he'd felt since waking boiled inside him - his desperate search for answers leading only to more questions, the hints of his memory only leaving him more lost. What did he have left if he gave in? An empty apartment? A postcard from a woman who might never return?

"I won't lose to you," he shouted again, rage and determination blooming in a rush. " _I won't!_ "

Then Walenski was flying back away from him, crashing back into the wall of the arena.

The clicking fell completely silent.

Walenski's rose fell from his pocket to the spiraling stone floor with a soft plop that seemed to resound through the room.

For a moment there was nothing. Then the giant clock chimed, the hands starting to move past midnight, both sides of the giant face closing.

Two of the shadowy figures behind Schreber started towards Walenski, who'd slid to his knees, staring at the discarded rose in mute disbelief. "Sleep," one of them said, and Walenski crumpled to the ground.

The third man strode towards John. The same man he'd met outside, John realized with another rush of anger.

"Congratulations, Mr. Murdoch," the man said. "And what an interesting trick you have somehow learned. We will be watching your progress very carefully, yes?"

"I want some answers," John shot back. "Who are you? Why don't I remember anything?"

"Why are you indeed, Mr. Murdoch. Perhaps in time we will all discover that. For now... _sleep._ "

"I - " John tried to grab onto the lapels of his black jacket as the world spun around him. He couldn't - he had to - 

" _Sleep now,_ " the man said again, and everything went black.

~~~

 

John woke up shivering, blinking hard as the world came into focus around him. He was stretched out on a bench by the river, the lights of the city glinting off the water in the darkness. Shivering, he sat up and drew his trench coat more tightly around him, trying to think back over everything that had happened. The arena on Center and Main. Those strange people, the clock, the duel... had any of that been real?

The heavy silver ring was still on his finger, and he stared down at it, turning it, tracing around the outline of the strange, spiraling design. It all seemed insane, far too crazy to be real. But what else did he have?

"Feel like I'm living out someone else's nightmare," he muttered, getting up and starting down the street, trying to orient himself. A sign at the end of the street caught his eye - a bar by his house, he recognized, walking faster. Then, when he reached it he stopped, glancing towards the door to his building and turning into the bar instead. Regardless of everything that had happened, part of him couldn't help but feel like he wasn't any closer to finding answers - or Emma - than he had been when he'd woken up, and he was far too exhausted to do anything about it but have a drink. Or five.

When the bar finally closed down he stumbled out, somehow managing to make it up all five flights of stairs to his apartment, then leaning heavily against the door as he drunkenly stabbed his key at the lock until it magically managed to go in. Closing his eyes for a moment and trying to still the world, he finally turned the handle and stepped inside, half tripping down the stairs, then freezing at the bottom.

Seated at the dining room table was the strange blond haired man, once again wearing a simple brown suit, reading a book. He tucked a bookmark between the pages and closed it, then rose, letting out a soft sigh as he started towards him. "Hello, John."

John scrunched his eyes closed, then opened them again. "... how th' hell're you in my 'partment?" he managed, not caring that he was slurring.

The man - Schreber, he remembered - stepped past him to push the door closed, locking it. "You are the champion. I belong to you. I must stay with you, and do as you say. For as long as you... are the champion." He took hold of John's elbow, gently but firmly, and started to lead him towards the bedroom.

"Don belong t' anybody," John muttered, because the idea was ridiculous. Wrong. He heard Schreber give a soft hum.

"So you say," he said, so soft that John wasn't sure whether or not he'd heard them. He tugged John's over coat from his shoulders, then started on the buttons of his shirt. "Let's get you -- to bed."

"Don't have a guest bed," John managed to say, trying to push away Schreber's fingers and do it himself, which took far more concentration than he'd imagined.

He was so focused that it took him a moment to realize both that Schreber had replied, "I don't need a bed," and also moved onto John's pants, undoing his belt and fly, then tugging them down over his hips.

"Take the bed," he ordered. He was drunk enough that he was quite sure that he could sleep anywhere. " 'm drunk," he tried to explain, and heard the man give another of his little hums.

"Certainly. Please go to bed, John. Don't worry -- about me."

John managed to kick out of his pants and one of his sleeves, flapping the other arm about in an attempt to dislodge it. "Sssherber. Schreber. You."

The man caught his arm, gently tugging the sleeve free. "You may call me Daniel, if you wish, John."

" S'sier," John agreed, and flopped backwards onto the mattress, kicking his feet up onto it. "Geddin bed." 

For a moment there was silence. Then John felt the covers being pulled over him. "Rest, John."

"Bed," John said again, blindly swiping at the mattress beside him. Emma certainly wasn't going to be there to use it. "You."

"Is that what you would like of me, John?"

John tried to focus on the features that looked down from over top of him. Did Daniel look... Concerned? Resigned? It was too hard to focus. " 'S what I said."

The face over his moved away, and for a moment John thought he was going to have to argue again. Then he heard Daniel say, "All right, John," and after a time the mattress next to him dipped, the covers shifting, and John managed to turn onto his side to look at the man in the other half of his bed.

Dressed in powder blue pajamas and without his glasses, the strange man looked... almost normal, even with the scar that twisted his right eyelid. He looked vulnerable, John found himself thinking, reaching out to touch the side of his face. Even drunk, he felt Daniel shiver at the brush of his fingers, heard his soft gasp, blue eyes closing as he turned his face to nuzzle John's palm, whimpering against his skin.

It felt good to touch him. Why did it feel so good? He stroked his fingers up into the man's hair, finding it as soft as silk. "Daniel...."

"I shouldn't," he whispered, drawing a shuddering breath against John's skin. "John... please...."

Why was he so upset? John tried to make noise that he hoped was reassuring, tried to pet his hair gently. "Shouldn't what?"

A soft, helpless sob. ".... shouldn't want you." Then Daniel was moving forward, curling against him, his body warm and inviting. Lips that were unexpectedly soft pressed to his, sweet and yearning, voice a little needy moan as he kissed him. His fingers slid down John's bare chest, stroking over his stomach, finally slipping past the elastic of his boxers to brush against his now half-hard cock through the thin cotton fabric. It was completely unexpected, but unexpectedly thrilling, enough that John managed to shake off some of the haze of the drink, tightening his fingers in Daniel's hair, lips parting to taste the sweetness of his kisses.

Daniel whimpered softly against his lips, arching closer, his palm cupping and rubbing against the length of his cock. He was still trembling, John realized, and made what he hoped was a soothing sound, stroking fingers through his hair. "What are you doing?"

"Pleasing you," the other man whispered, fingers ceasing their slow stroke only to slip under the waistband of his shorts and curl around the shaft of his cock. John bit his lip on a groan, breath coming harder as he pushed forward into the exquisite caress. Even as drunk as he was, it was impossible not to react to such pleasure. The feel of his skin was so good that for a moment all John could think of was having him completely naked, being able to press up against him, rut against his hip and cover his skin with kisses. 

Then Daniel's words tugged at something at the back of his mind, just enough of a realization that John caught hold of his wrist. "Stop. I don't own you. Only do what you want."

Against his mouth, Daniel gave a choked, desperate laugh. "Of course I want this," he whispered, pressing closer. "All I've ever wanted was to be with you, John. I wanted to be back with you so badly...."

 _I wanted to be back with you._ The thought was so astonishing that he let go of Daniel's wrist, sucking in a gasp as the other man's fingers twisted around him, thumb smoothing slick over the head of his cock. "You were here," he managed to gasp, the astonishment at finally, _finally_ getting the truth of something clearing his head more. "You were with me? Like this?"

"Every way you wanted," Daniel breathed, breath growing heavier as his fingers slid up and down the length of his cock. "God, John - please let me suck you, please - "

The thought was nearly beyond comprehension - for a moment John couldn't think to react, couldn't think about anything but the thought of this man with his soft, beautiful lips wrapped around his cock. Then Daniel was sliding down, pressing trembling kisses to his stomach, sucking wetly at his skin as he urged his boxers down completely. John felt the huff of his breath against his cock, an exquisite shiver of sensation. Then the flat of his tongue pushed all thoughts from John's head, licking up the underside of his shaft, pressing into the sensitive point just under the head as Daniel groaned, breath hot against his skin, and took him in his mouth.

That was even better: the wet, sweet heat of his mouth, the little hungry, needy noise Daniel gave as his lips slid down his shaft. His fingers curled around the base of John's cock, holding him in place as he suckled him hungrily, stroking and caressing to match the movements of his mouth. He knew this, John realized as he curled his fingers in his hair. Knew this sweetness, this devotion - god, how could he have forgotten?

"Daniel," he gasped, stroking his fingers through his hair and feeling him respond, taking him deeper, half gagging around his cock. He tightened his fingers in his hair. "God, how could I forget, how could I... oh hell, oh fuck, Daniel - !" It was too much, too good, and before he could think to try and hold back he was coming, the pleasure of Daniel's mouth and the caress of his fingers pulling the sweetest ecstasy from him.

He was vaguely aware of Daniel pulling back, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock, tugging his boxers back into place. He ought to say something, but between the alcohol and the heavy bliss of orgasm he could barely make his thoughts function, let alone his tongue.

"Sleep," he heard Daniel murmur softly, tucking the blankets up around his shoulders. "Sleep now, my love, and forgive me.... I wanted, so badly, to save you... I tried so hard...."

It seemed like such a strange thing to say. But I saved you, John wanted to say. I saved you from Walenski's madness, his cruelty. Why are you apologizing to me?

But the call of sleep was too strong, and by the time John awoke the next morning to the smell of fried eggs and fresh-brewed coffee, the memories of Daniel's strange words had, like most of his memories, faded away completely.

~~~


	3. Leon Husselbeck

"He shouldn't be back in the game this quickly, should he, sir?" Officer Leon Husselbeck hovered at the corner of his Superior's desk, feeling as out of place as always, and as always, never wanting to leave. He looked towards the door of Inspector Frank Bumstead's office, towards the direction where John Murdoch had disappeared. "He was the champion for so long... There's no way they would have allowed him to stay."

"Who's to say what they've decided to do, Husselbeck." Frank pushed his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose. "They say they're looking for a Champion that can wield true power, but... sometimes it seems like these duels will never end. Maybe they didn't want to start over from scratch again."

Leon nodded slowly, contemplating his words. They'd been aware of Walenski for a few weeks, of course. That was their job, to use their positions - Frank's position, really - with the precinct to keep a ginger on the pulse of the city, to identify the people who might become restless enough with their lives to become duelists. They delivered regular reports to the doctor, for the Masters of the Duels, and soon after would find that the potential duelists had either been either subtly encouraged to pursue the Duels, or... completely set back, with no memory of their ambitions at all.

Leon wasn't sure how it was done. He wasn't certain he wanted to know. He felt unsettled when he thought about it too long, this business of manipulating people and lives for some unknown ends. But Frank had asked for his help when he'd discovered that Leon was an adept fencer. And Leon...

For better or worse, Leon would do anything for that man.

"He wouldn't have come here if he didn't want back in," Frank said, as if sensing Leon's unsettled thoughts. "You heard him. No matter what's happened to his memories, he's still a duelist."

Leon nodded. "You really think he can beat Walenski?" They'd watched Walenski's battle through the scope from the top level of the arena, brutal in its intensity, half-crazed like Walenski's ramblings.

Leon watched Frank's lips purse as he considered it. "I think," he said slowly, "that flames that burn uncontrollably also burn out the quickest. And that John Murdoch, whether or not he remembers, is one of the most formidable fencers I have ever faced."

Leon didn't like to think about the time before John, when Frank had been the champion for months, with The Doctor his constant shadow. It had nearly driven him mad when no one in the precinct had questioned the man's sudden appearance, or how he'd gotten access to such a high ranking police officer. He'd been useful, of course - it had been the only time Leon could remember where they'd been caught up on the paperwork - but it had felt wrong. There was something in the Doctor's mannerisms that made the hair on the back of Leon's neck stand on end. And of course, he must work for the Masters, if he was taking their reports to them. Surely he was far more involved in their manipulations than his innocent demeanor let on.

Helping Frank was _Leon's_ job. And of course he'd wanted Frank to be successful as the champion, how could he want anything but success for him? But...

But it was simple, when it was just the two of them. It was _nice_. It was completely reasonable for Leon to distrust the Doctor, even dislike him. It had nothing to do with how gentle Frank was towards him, or the way that he smiled....

Frank wouldn't be like that, Leon tried to tell himself. No matter what the rumors he'd heard about the role of the Doctor in the Duels. _The Bride._ No matter what he and Murdoch had been like before Walenski, wrapped up in each other like a pair of lovebirds.

"Do you really think he has a wife?" he found himself musing aloud, and Frank gave a low, huffed laugh.

"Strange to think about. But I've seen stranger, with others who have been removed from the duels. Who knows where things will end up. Walenski could keep the Bride for a time. We may need to fight him." He straightened in his chair, leaning forward in sudden concern. "He's unpredictable. Will you be alright in the arena with him?"

Leon had yet to be asked to challenge the champion, and the thought of doing so made his pulse quicken. But Walenski didn't frighten him. The most important thing in a duel was control, discipline. He'd study Walenski's fights, and when it came time to face him he was sure he could provide enough of a challenge for Walenski to feel like he'd advanced. "Thank you, sir. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Frank pressed. "We can practice, if you like."

Leon felt warmth rush through him at the suggestion, and fought to keep from smiling. He'd never say no to going to the salle with Frank, even though his own skills were far inferior to the inspector's. "Thank you, sir. I'd like that very much," he said, thinking that Frank's answering smile was the most beautiful thing in the world.

~~~

"You're distracted," Frank said, pulling up his mask, the tip of his foil still pressed to Leon's shoulder. "That's the third point I shouldn't have landed. What's wrong?"

Leon shook his head, stepping back and pulling off his own mask and glove to run a hand through his sweaty hair. "I'm sorry, sir. I..." What was it? He felt unsettled in a strange way, a feeling somewhere between discomfort and dread that he couldn't quite put into words. "I don't know."

Frank nodded, eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Take the rest of the night off, Husselbeck. Get some rest."

The thought of leaving so early when he could have another hour in the salle with the Inspector brought a surge of disappointment. Leon shook his head again. "I'm fine, sir. I can keep going, I promise. I'll work harder."

"I know you will." Frank smiled, but started off the piste anyway, patting Leon on the shoulder as he passed. "Come on."

Leon's heart sank. "Sir...."

"It's fine, Husselbeck. Let's just grab a drink."

For a moment Leon couldn't move, staring after the inspector in shock. He heard a soft thud as his glove fell from his fingers to the floor.

Frank turned, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Unless you hate the thought of going for a drink with this stuffy old man?"

"No!" Leon ducked to grab his glove, hurrying after him towards the change rooms, still not quite believing what he was hearing. "No, sir - I - I'd love to. I mean, if you don't have anything else to do, if I'm not keeping you from anything...."

Frank chuckled, soft and low. "You know well that I don't," he said, opening his locker. Then he gave a soft hum, picking up a small black envelope Leon was all too familiar with. "In any case, we've received an invitation for midnight."

Why did that make Leon's stomach sink? It was too strange - a new challenge never happened so soon after a duel. "You think it's Murdoch? Did he find Walenski?"

"We'll see soon enough."

It had been a long day, but Leon found himself glad of it; with only two hours until midnight there was no reason to go home. Instead they found their way to Eleven Central Lounge, settling down in a small booth off to one side, nursing highballs as the pianist played to the crowd. It was comfortable, sitting with Frank in companionable silence, without anything to attend to for work or for the duels. A number of tables held distinguished looking businessmen, often with a beautiful woman on one arm, and for a few indulgent moments Leon let himself imagine them the same; that he was here to make Frank look good, to please him as a girlfriend would.

"Do you come here a lot?" he found himself asking, and Frank smiled, taking a sip of his drink before setting down the tumblr.

"On occasion. It's a good place to observe people. And the music is nice." He drew a finger around the rim of the glass, watching him. "Tell me something, Husselbeck... what would you do with it?"

Leon's heart skipped a beat, but he tried to play dumb. "Sir?"

"The power they promise. Eternity. The power that no-one's been able to attain. If you could have anything in the world."

Leon lowered his eyes to the table, fighting to keep calm and hoping that his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. _I'd be like one of those women for you,_ he wanted to say. _I'd be your lover. Your everything._ But that was absurd, even to dream about. "I... I don't know, sir."

"Surely you must have thought about it."

Leon looked up at him. "Have you?"

Frank hesitated, then nodded slowly. "I'm not sure if I ever will, of course," he said slowly, turning his attention out into the club again. "We're meant to be gate keepers, you and I.. To make sure the challengers are truly worthy. Even when I've had the Bride... I know it's only a matter of time. But...."

He stopped, and Leon said nothing, watching him, hoping that he'd continue. Wanting to prompt him, but not knowing how. Finally Frank gave a little shake of his head. "I have a lot of questions," he said finally. "About... the way things are. Things don't add up. I'd like... to change some things."

"Some things like what?" Leon asked softly, and watched Frank's lips turn up into a small, sad smile.

"Things that are quite impossible, I'm afraid," he said, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers together.

Leon sighed, taking another sip of his drink. "I guess that's kind of like what I'm looking for," he said, lacing his fingers together as well. Dreaming of Frank reaching out to touch him... to draw him close, to kiss him.... "But I might as well ask for a miracle. And those don't exist."

Frank nodded slowly, saying nothing. Then he turned his attention to a table near the stage, where a blond woman had just sat down with a man, smiling and laughing. "That woman at the front. She's an escort, she frequents this club. I received a request to keep an eye on her." He glanced to Leon. "You don't mind if we come back again, do you, Husselbeck?"

Frank's words sent a rush of disappointment through him. Of course they were just here for business... how could he think it was anything else? Frank wouldn't ever have cause, have the desire to spend time with him socially. He should have known that from the start.

Then again, sitting like this with Frank... perhaps that was as close to a miracle as he was ever going to get. "I don't mind at all, sir," he said, and tried not to melt at the warmth in Frank's smile.

~~~

Murdoch won.

"What just happened?" Leon whispered, lowering his binoculars and staring down into the arena below. "How did he... he shouldn't be able to...."

"I don't know." Frank shook his head. "We need to go talk to Daniel.

 _Daniel_. Not The Doctor, or even Doctor Schreber. Leon felt himself bristle at the familiarity. He followed Frank down to ground level, arriving at the doors inside the main gates just as a group of the Masters appeared from the lower levels, carrying Murdoch and Walenski, both asleep, draped over their shoulders.

"Is he dangerous?" Frank asked in a low voice, leaning close to the Doctor as he appeared. "Do you need me to challenge Murdoch?"

Daniel shook his head, and Leon looked away, trying not to think about the familiar way he laid a hand on Frank's sleeve as he answered. "It's alright for now. Thank you, Frank. I will stay with him. I'll watch him. Please keep an eye on the others."

The others, who would inevitably at some point challenge him. Leon found himself staring past them at the elaborate doors to the lower levels with their silver handle, found himself rubbing a finger against the silver signet ring Frank himself had given him, with its strange, carved spiral. A key, Frank had told him. To the arena? To eternity?

"Let's go, Husselbeck," Frank said quietly, his hand warm on Leon's shoulder even through his jacket. Daniel was gone. Leon nodded, walking with him, trying very hard not to think about who else he might have touched with such tenderness and why.

~~~

 

"I cannot explain to you about the duels," Daniel told John as they sat across the table from each other, breakfast finished and the dishes put away. "I do not know the full truth of it myself. Only that they have been testing people for... as long as I can remember. Trying to find a challenger, a champion. Who can earn the power of eternity."

John felt a rush of disappointment, frustration. "So you can't tell me who I am or why I can't remember anything."

"That I can answer. A little, at least." Daniel looked up at him, lacing his fingers together. "You were the champion for... a very long time, John. As many have been before. It is their practice, when a champion loses, to... remove them."

John shook his head. "Remove them?"

"From the duels. Their powers, the power that allowed all the things that you saw last night... they can alter memory. Remove details. Allow them to live a normal life. This is what they tried to do to you. But something went wrong. Your memory was erased."

"Can they return them to me? My memories? Can they fix me?"

Daniel tilted his head to one side slightly, silent for a long moment. "Perhaps. They say that anything is possible."

"If I win this... eternity."

"Yes."

"And what about my wife? Did she really leave me, or is that more of their tricks?"

"You were meant to pursue Emma. She knows nothing of the duels."

It all seemed so unbelievable. John shook his head as he tried to process it, then looked up at him. "Are you the reason she left? Because I was with you?"

Daniel drew back, shaking his head slightly, staring down at the table. "Emma... was not here when you won me. When you became the champion. But she loves you, John. If you would like to be with her again... I will help you. If that is what you want."

"Because you're here to do as I say." John remembered that much from their conversation the night before. "To obey the champion."

"Yes."

"That hardly seems fair."

Daniel smiled, thin and forced. "Very little in this world is fair, John. I desire Eternity as much as any champion. But I cannot fight as you do. So the Masters allow me this place. So that when a champion comes who is able to find eternity... then I may share in that."

John shook his head. "By being their slave?"

Daniel kept his gaze averted. "By serving their will."

John shook his head slowly. It was too easy to remember how rough Walenski had been with him. How Daniel had taken it, not trying to fight back. It had awoken such anger in him. Had he remembered Daniel, somehow? "You deserve to be happy."

"Happiness is irrelevant." Daniel kept his head lowered, words calm. They seemed too calm, somehow. "I'm here to do the champion's will."

"Whatever they will."

"Yes, John."

"What about sex?"

For a moment, Daniel didn't answer. John watched him swallow. "If that is their will... yes."

"And me?"

Daniel closed his eyes for a moment. Then he raised his head to look up at him, blue eyes bright. "I know that you can't remember how we were together," he said quietly. "I can't ever hope for that. But, John, please believe me... you've been so kind to me. Always. I wanted you so badly...."

Was he telling the truth? Was this just what he thought John wanted to hear? He rose, rounding the table to lean on the edge in front of Daniel, looking down at him. Daniel was quiet and still, but held his gaze, and when John lifted a hand to touch his cheek he shivered, leaning into his touch.

"Have I ever forced you to be with me when you didn't want to be?" he said softly, and Daniel gave a soft moan, shaking his head.

"No. No, I promise you, John."

"Will you promise me that you'll never let me? Please." He ran a thumb along Daniel's cheekbone, the idea weighing heavy on his heart. "I couldn't bear it."

Daniel gave a soft, huffed laugh. Then he turned his face to nuzzle John's palm, eyes half lidded as his lips parted against the mound of his thumb, sucking gently at his skin. It brought back a flash of memory of the night before, and John sucked in a sharp breath, cock twitching harder at the thought of more.

"Daniel...."

"There is little danger of me ever not wanting you," Daniel murmured, soft voice dropping into a huskiness that John's cock liked even more. "Trust me."

"Even so," he forced out, breath coming heavier as Daniel caught the tip of his thumb between his lips, sucking it into his mouth, lathing it with his tongue. "I... I would appreciate it... please...."

Blue eyes flicked up to his, meeting his gaze through golden eyelashes as his lips pulled from John's thumb. Beautiful lips, he thought, stroking them with the pad of his thumb, watching Daniel smile. "I promise I'll never go to bed with you unwillingly," he murmured. Then he reached out to run a hand up the side of his thigh, over the striped pajama pants John had pulled on when he'd woken up. "I'm willing now. If you would like, John."

Even though the haze of the alcohol, it was easy to remember how good it had felt to kiss him the night before. He drew a sharp breath as Daniel leaned forward to press his face to his hip, pressing a kiss to the crisp fabric before turning his face to let a warm huff of breath tease against his cock. John slid his fingers into his hair, feeling the same arousal and strange, unexpected tenderness towards him as he had the night before.

"God," he whispered as Daniel took the invitation to nuzzle his half-hard cock, stroking a hand up between his thighs to cup and stroke him through the thin cotton of his pajama pants. How could such eager adoration not turn him on? He stroked his fingers over the back of Daniel's neck, groaning as his lover's - his lover's? - lips parted against his quickly hardening cock, sucking at him through the cotton. "You're incredible," he breathed, and Daniel gave a soft, pleased hum in reply, palming his cock a little more firmly as he nuzzled his nose into the ribbed cotton of John's undershirt, breathing deep.

"You are very much the incredible one," Daniel murmured softly, tugging the drawstring of his pajama pants undone so that he could pull them down his hips, nuzzling his cock as it sprang free with a low groan. "God, John... I can't even begin to tell you...."

The caress of his lips and tongue was just as exquisite as it had been the night before - more, without the haze of the alcohol. John groaned as he watched Daniel's lips slide down the shaft of his cock, letting his eyes fall closed briefly to the exquisite sensation and rocking into the eager heat of his mouth. Was this how they'd been together before, during this time he couldn't remember? So wantonly sexual? He pushed Daniel away, holding his shoulder to keep him in place. "I just... feel like I hardly know you...."

"...ah." The disappointment in Daniel's eyes was impossible to miss, even as he lowered his head. "Of course. This is inappropriate of me. Last night - you weren't yourself, and I - it was very inappropriate of me. Please forgive me, John."

"I didn't mean...." John sighed, shaking his head, thinking back to the night before. He'd definitely passed out as soon as Daniel had gotten him off, he remembered with a flush of shame. He stroked his fingers over Daniel's cheek again. "I left you wanting last night, didn't I?"

Daniel looked up at him, surprised. "No. Believe me, pleasing you never leaves me wanting, John."

He said it with such earnestness that John couldn't disbelieve him. He stroked a thumb over Daniel's lips again, pressing against his strange, deep cupid's bow. Like a rosebud, he found himself thinking. "How extraordinary you are," he murmured, and felt Daniel's lips tremble against his thumb as he drew breath.

"Will you tell me how to please you, John?" he whispered, kissing his thumb, and suddenly John wanted to kiss those lips more than anything.

"Come to bed with me," he said quietly. "No blow jobs in the kitchen. I don't want to take from you without giving back. That's what will please me."

Daniel rose from his chair, hesitating only a moment before reaching up to cup John's cheek. He searched his gaze silently, clearly overwhelmed, his eyes growing bright. John drew him closer, returning the touch with a soft noise of dismay. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No." Daniel whispered, and arched up to kiss him, stroking his fingers into his hair to keep him close, breath trembling against his lips. "Not wrong at all. Are you certain you remember nothing, John? Nothing of me? Of us?"

John sighed and closed his eyes, stroking an arm around his waist to hold him close, trying to remember. Unlike his moments with Walenski, there were no flashes of memory that returned to him as he stroked his fingers through Daniel's hair or as he leaned in to kiss those sweet lips again. "I wish I did," he said finally. "Sometimes when things happen I see... flashes, but... nothing makes any sense. I'm sorry."

"And yet still you stood up for me." Daniel's fingers moved against his scalp, turning the curls around his fingers in a way that felt wonderfully familiar. Intimate.

"Couldn't let him keep hurting you." John murmured, arm tightening around his waist. "I don't remember, but... something about you, I... it feels good to be with you."

Daniel said nothing, but kissed him again, trembling, voice rough when he finally spoke. "Take me to bed, John. Please."

~~~

 

Leon shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat against the night chill, following Frank into the Eleven Central club. It always felt strange, not to be in uniform. He felt exposed.

He felt more unease as they slipped into the small booth along the wall to join the figure that sat there, head lowered, chestnut fedora pulled low to hide his eyes.

"Daniel," Frank said quietly in greeting, and the figure adjusted his hat, giving a nod, smiling at Frank in a way that Leon didn't like.

"Frank. Officer Husselbeck. I hope the evening finds you... well."

"As always," Frank replied, taking a thin notebook from his breast pocket and handing it to him. "Little to report, I'm afraid. The most notable thing that's happened is the dual a week ago, which you're well aware of."

Daniel nodded, pocketing the notebook. "And the woman?"

Frank looked out into the club, and Leon followed his gaze to catch sight of the object of their conversation, standing in the shadows by a booth near the stage. "Restless. She's been coming here more often, but not to engage with her regular clientele. I could try and have my undercover bring her in for solicitation so that I can question her?"

The doctor shook his head. "That will not be necessary yet. Your observations are enough. Thank you, Frank."

Frank leaned closer to him, lowering his voice so that it was barely audible to Leon. "You're alright with Murdoch, aren't you?"

Daniel touched the back of his hand briefly, gentle and familiar. "I'm always alright with the Champion, Frank."

"Of course. Forgive my concern, he was just so erratic when he came into the precinct." He glanced towards the stage, where a dark haired woman was taking the microphone, the house band starting into a slow, crooning ballad. "Is he still looking for her?"

Leon watched the doctor turn to look towards the stage. His face was carefully blank, but Leon thought he saw the corner of his mouth twitch, as if trying to hold back... a smile? "He doesn't remember being with her, so... it has become rather less urgent for him."

"Incredible." Frank shook his head slowly. "So they really erased all of his memories."

The doctor's lips tightened, and he nodded. "So it seems. They haven't said anything about it, but I do not believe it is on purpose. Perhaps a side effect of the abilities he seems to have acquired. They will be watching him very closely."

"And you too, right?" Frank pressed. "If he's a danger, Daniel, if I need to challenge him - "

"I can manage Murdoch. Even without his memories. Please don't worry about me." Daniel replied, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing it, standing, ignoring Leon as if he wasn't even there. "Please excuse me. I really must be going."

"Daniel - " Frank's hand darted out to grab his wrist, gaze conflicted. "Be careful," he said finally. "Take care of yourself."

Daniel smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to Frank's cheek, and Leon felt his blood boil. "I will. Thank you, Frank."

Leon forced himself to keep his mouth shut, despite everything he wanted to say as the doctor left. "Whisky on the rocks," he said to the waitress when she approached their table, and Frank looked at him sharply, surprised.

"Is everything alright, Husselbeck?"

 _No. I hate seeing you with him,_ he wanted to say, but bit his tongue sharply. "Yes. It's just this whole... Murdoch thing. His memories. What happened in the arena. I don't like the thought of it, sir."

Frank laid a hand on his forearm, giving a gentle squeeze. "I know it's nothing like we've seen before. But I trust Daniel when he say that he can handle things."

Daniel, again. "You became close to him when you were the champion, didn't you?" Leon said before he could stop himself.

Frank looked away, hand moving from Leon's arm. His lips pressed tightly together, silent for a long moment before finally speaking. "It... proved impossible not to. Because he's the Bride, the way he thinks, the way he... reads people... I'm sorry, Husslebeck, I can't explain it. You'll understand when you're the champion."

"Me?" The thought was so absurd that Leon let out a hard laugh. "Sir, that's not going to happen."

"No?" Frank looked distinctly sad as he back to him. "Why did you agree to fight if you don't think you can win?"

 _For you, Because you asked me to._ Leon swallowed hard and shook his head, looking away. "It doesn't matter."

He watched Frank frown, then shift closer to him on the bench, turning into him so that his knee nearly brushed Leon's thigh. "You sell yourself short," he said finally, softly. "You're better than you think, Leon. And far more worthy a champion than anyone who's ever challenged me. That thing that you want, your miracle... you deserve the power of eternity more than anyone."

For a moment Leon felt like he couldn't breathe, caught in the depths of Frank's warm gray eyes. _But I don't want that. I only want you,_ he wanted to say, and thankfully the words stuck in this throat.

"Do you really think it can grant miracles?" he managed finally, and Frank nodded slowly.

"I think that if there's anyone in the world who can find that out that it's you," he said quietly, and Leon tried to push away the way Frank's words made him feel - warm and flattered and completely overwhelmed all at once.

"Train with me tomorrow," Frank continued. "I want you to win. I'll help you."

Leon nodded, feeling like his heart might burst. Perhaps, just perhaps he could have a small piece of that miracle after all. "Thank you, sir. I will."

~~~


	4. Jalousie

For the next week it seemed as though Frank was determined to drive him to exhaustion, holding back nothing on the piste. But though it was hard, Leon began to feel his body respond to the intense training, learning how to move without thinking, reading and responding to Frank's assaults almost automatically, until he was scoring nearly as many points as his teacher. The pride he could see in Frank's eyes was worth every moment of it, and when Leon collapsed into bed at the end of the night he started to allow himself to imagine more. To imagine how proud Frank would be when he eventually challenged the duels and won, again and again. He imagined Frank catching him into his arms, holding him close, kissing him....

Could it really be real? Leon told himself firmly that he was just daydreaming. Even if he eventually reached the point where he could win, it wouldn't make Frank's feelings towards him change.

But part of him couldn't help but imagine, just a little, what things might be like if miracles truly did exist.

He was thinking over the previous day's practice as he made his way to Frank's office a week later, changed into plain clothes, ready to take the week's reports to the Doctor. He was surprised to see Frank step out of his office ahead of him, coat already on, settling his hat on his head. Embarrassed, he hurried to catch up. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be late."

"Oh - ah, it's alright." Frank turned to him, expression rather sheepish. "You're not. I've been asked to go alone tonight, I was leaving early so that I could come meet you at the salle. It's alright, isn't it, Husselbeck?"

Leon felt a wave of ice wash over him, felt his stomach twist and clench. "To meet the Doctor?"

Frank nodded. "I won't take long. We'll train after. Alright?"

Why did the thought of leaving Frank alone with him make Leon feel so terrible? "Of course," he managed to reply, lowering his head and stepping back. "I'll see you at the salle."

There was no point in going home if he was just going to leave again to train with Frank, Leon told himself. But instead of going back to his desk he left the precinct, turning up his collar against the evening chill and starting down the street. He could get a cup of coffee to pass the time. Read the paper. That the Eleven Central Club happened to be in the same direction as the salle was purely a coincidence, he told himself. As was his choice to step into the little cafe beside it, settling down in a booth that allowed him to see the outside of the club quite clearly in the reflection of the darkened shop windows across the street.

The cafe coffee was bitter, but plentiful, which was good when he couldn't quite focus on the paper in front of him. He kept glancing across the street, looking for Frank's familiar form at the door of the club, the shape of his hat and overcoat.

When his mentor finally came into view it felt like he could finally breathe again, and he held up a hand to signal the waitress. Then he glanced back across the street again and froze.

A smaller man in a darker overcoat had followed Frank out of the club, and as he watched, Frank turned back to him, stepping into him and pressing him up against the side of a pillar. Intimately close, and unmistakable in his intentions, leaning in close for a kiss.

A bus slowed to a stop in front of the cafe, blocking his view, but Leon had seen enough. Suddenly nauseous, he pushed away the remains of his coffee, burying his face in his hands

What a fool he'd been, to think that Frank would ever return his feelings, would ever want him like that. What could he offer Frank that Daniel couldn't? Even whatever mystical power of Eternity the Masters claimed to hold couldn't create a miracle like Frank wanting to be with him.

Leaving coins on the table to pay his bill, Leon headed out into the cold, blinking back tears. There was no sign of Frank or Daniel outside, thank god. And he couldn't go to the salle, not now. The thought of seeing Frank was impossible when all he could see when he closed his eyes was Frank's reflection, pressed close to Daniel.

It was a cruel reminder that sooner or later, Frank would be champion again. Even if Leon managed to defeat Murdoch, Frank would always be that much better than he. Frank could be the Champion any time he wanted. And then he'd have the Bride, who would do anything Frank wanted him to, and he wouldn't need Leon for anything.

Then a thought crossed his mind that stopped Leon dead in his tracks.

_...anything the Champion wants...._

It was so simple, so brilliant. How had he never thought of it before? Leon changed directions, starting off at a brisk walk that grew faster as he neared his destination, going inside and climbing the five flights of stairs. After a week of such intensive training, he barely needed to pause to catch his breath at the top, banging on the door of apartment five, then again when there was no answer. Harder.

"Murdoch! Open the door, I know you're in there! Open up!"

Finally Leon heard the bolt being drawn back, and the door opened to a groggy looking John Murdoch, dressed only in pajama pants. He blinked down at Leon in the bright light of the hallway. "... Officer Husselbeck?"

Leon drew a deep breath. "This is nothing personal, Murdoch. But I want the Bride, and for that I have to fight. I challenge you - "

"Leon, stop!" A cry came from the stairwell, breathless and desperate, and Leon turned to see the doctor pull himself up the last few stairs, breathing hard, leaning heavily on the rail. "Stop," he gasped again, coughing as he tried to catch his breath. "Stop, please. Don't do this!"

"Why?" Leon whirled to face him, stepping forward as Daniel shrank back against the hallway wall. "So you can keep sneaking around with Frank? I saw you two together!"

Daniel's eyebrows knit together. "I don't know what you think -- you saw, but you're wrong. I'm John's Bride. There's nothing -- between the Inspector and me now."

"Not until he wins you again! I won't let that happen!"

"Please," Daniel begged. "You don't -- have to do this. Leon - "

"I challenge the champion to a duel," Leon declared, holding John's gaze, "answer my challenge or forfeit your rights to the Bride!" He turned back to the doctor. "Recognize my challenge!"

"Your challenge to the Champion... is recognized," Daniel said slowly, obediently, giving a soft, helpless sigh. "Challenger who seeks the power of eternity, arrive at the arena at the center before the last stroke of midnight. Then you will have your chance." 

"Good." Leon pushed past Daniel to start down the stairs, then stopped, turning back. "Enjoy your last day with him. I'm going to win, and then you'll have to obey me. Miracles are a joke, but I'm going to make one happen. I promise you that."

Then, without waiting for them to answer, he turned and left. Nothing that either of them could say would change his mind. He could win, he knew he could. He had to.

For Frank.

~~~

 

John stared into the stairwell as the sound of footsteps faded, then stepped out onto the landing where Daniel still leaned heavily against the wall, breath in ragged gasps. "Come inside," he said softly, wrapping an arm around his waist to support him as he guided him in. "Are you alright?"

"I - I will be." Daniel stepped into him as soon as the door was closed, burying his face in John's shoulder, trembling. "Oh, John...."

"He was serious, wasn't he. I have to fight him."

He felt Daniel give a small nod, heard him choke back a sob. "Yes."

"Because he wants you."

Daniel gave a soft, helpless laugh - or was it another sob? "Because he thinks it can give him someone that he thinks he can't have."

Of course. John drew back, pulling the fedora from Daniel's head and setting it aside blindly on the shelf beside him. "Daniel... who's Frank?"

His lover's expression grew serious. "The Inspector. Bumstead. He gathers information for the Masters, he watches people for them. To try and be prepared for people like Walenski. I take the information from them to him. It's why I must leave, sometimes."

John nodded slowly, trying to relate his words to what he knew of the man from their brief meeting. He had tried to warn John away from Walenski. Was it to keep him out of the duels? "Why does Leon think there's something between you?"

Daniel swallowed, lowering his eyes. "He... was the champion before you were."

John felt his stomach twist, felt his whole body grow suddenly cold. "You went to bed with him," he heard himself say faintly, and watched Daniel give a small nod, his expression miserable.

"I did what he wanted," he murmured.

"Did he force you?" John asked before he could stop himself, though he didn't know what answer would be worse.

Daniel shook his head quickly. "No. I was not unwilling. He was kind to me, John. But he didn't love me, and I didn't love him. Please... please don't be angry...."

 _Do you love me?_ John wanted to ask, but the words stuck in his throat. Even if Daniel were to answer, could he trust that he was telling the truth, and not just telling John what he wanted to hear? He swallowed hard. "I'm not angry," he forced himself to say, and though he wasn't sure if he wouldn't be later, for now he just felt sick. "And if you - if there is still something between you, I - you don't have to pretend for my sake. If you want to be with him - "

"I don't." Daniel looked up at him pleadingly, stepping closer. "You're what's important to me, John. I've never lied about that. I want to be yours. Please believe me...."

It was hard not to, with those eyes looking up at him, bright with unshed tears. John gave a soft, helpless moan, drawing him close and pulling off his glasses to kiss his eyelids, lips lingering on the poor, twisting scar.

"I want you to be mine," he whispered, feeling Daniel shudder against him at his words as he wrapped his arms up around John's neck. "I don't want you to ever have to be forced to be with anyone else, to give yourself to anyone you don't want. But I could lose you at any time, couldn't I?" John shook his head, suddenly feeling helpless. "I don't even remember how to fight. I could lose you today."

Daniel's arms tightened around his neck, his voice soft and small. "... will you really give me up so easily?"

Easily? The thought was absurd, and John felt determination flare hot inside him. He pulled back to look at Daniel, to kiss his forehead, his mouth. "Never. Not tonight, not ever. I'm not letting you go. I'll beat him tonight, no matter what it takes. I promise."

Daniel gave him a trembling smile, drawing a soft sob against his lips as he kissed him. For a long moment he did nothing but cling to him, kissing him over and over, his kisses growing longer, hungrier, until John pushed his hands into his overcoat, filling his hands with the soft roundness of his ass and half lifting him up onto his tiptoes as he pulled him against him.

Daniel groaned into his mouth, low and needy, arching closer. "Please take me to bed, John. I... need you. Please..."

He tried not to think about the possibility that Daniel had said these things to other people. What choice did he have but to trust him, when the alternative would lead to such sorrow? "Shh..." he murmured, pulling him back towards the bedroom, tugging off his overcoat along the way and starting on his neat brown suit. "Of course, love. Anything you need."

"... anything?" Daniel let him strip him of his coat and vest, undoing his own bowtie. "Even... John, I...."

"Anything," John murmured again, starting to trail kisses down the side of his neck. Sheepishly, he'd spent a good portion of the two weeks since he'd dueled against Walenski in bed with Daniel... any time that they weren't out in the city, trying to find clues to his missing memory. It was hard to resist the temptation when it felt so good to touch him, when the pleasure of bringing his sweet lover to climax with his hands or his mouth was so intoxicating. And it became easier and easier to find excuses to stay in. Easy to reach for him, when Daniel was always so eager and willing, and when touching him felt so very good....

The way Daniel whimpered when John moved a hand to cup his cock through his slacks was incredibly gratifying, and he worried the crook of his neck with his teeth, groaning as Daniel's breath grew heavier, shuddering against him.

"Bed," he gasped again, tugging at the knot on John's pajama pants. "Please...."

Soon enough he was pressing Daniel down into the bed, gloriously naked, blanketing him with his form. This too was wonderful, feeling the warmth of Daniel's bare skin against his own, the hard press of his cock as John rocked against him. "Exquisite," he whispered, claiming Daniel's mouth with his own, stealing his moan with a kiss as he rolled his hips against him slowly. "Wanna taste you," he murmured, drinking in his gasps with more kisses, nuzzling his mouth. "Wanna make you feel so good, sweetheart... wanna make you come...."

Daniel whimpered, nipping at his bottom lip before drawing back enough to look up at him. "I... I'd really like you inside me...."

John groaned, claiming his mouth in a kiss, rolling his hips down against him again. Daniel asking for things was as arousing as always. "You want my fingers in you while I suck you?" he murmured, feeling Daniel's breath catch in his throat. He shivered himself at the memory of how delightful that was, how he'd learned to wring the most incredible, helpless sounds from Daniel's lips with his lips and tongue and a careful crook of the fingers.

"More," Daniel gasped, pressing him onto his back. Climbing astride his hips, he reached for the bottle of lubricant on the bedside table, pouring some in his fingers and stroking both their cocks together. "Please, John. I don't mean to rush you, but I...."

It wasn't hard to put two and two together. John drew a sharp hiss of breath as Daniel's thumb rubbed slick over the head of his cock, and ran his hands up Daniel's hips, cupping and kneading his ass. "I won't hurt you?"

His lover gave a soft, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "No. No, it's wonderful." He poured more slick on his fingers, reaching back behind himself, biting his lip on a groan as he worked them up into himself. " I... I need to stop thinking about everything but you, I... need to forget about it all... the duels, everything...."

"Show me," John said, and in moments Daniel had shifted move over him, fingers wrapped around the base of his cock to hold him in place as he slowly sank down onto him. For a moment John's breath caught in his throat, feeling the tightness of his body as he pushed down against the head of his cock and thinking that surely he couldn't continue. Then his lover gave a breathless, trembling groan, and suddenly John was inside the perfect tightness of his body, the slick heat of his ass caressing his cock as he impaled himself. John arched up against him before he could stop himself, hips stuttering deeper. He tried to draw back and control himself at Daniel's breathless cry. "Oh hell - "

But his lover surged forward to kiss him, grinding down onto him with desperate little bucks. "More," he gasped, drawing a shuddering breath against his mouth, rocking down onto his cock again and again. "Please, John, god - please fuck me - "

How could he do anything but? If he'd thought the feel of Daniel's mouth was exquisite it was nothing compared to this, rocking deep into him, hearing Daniel gasp out his pleasure, shuddering hot and tight around his cock. He shifted until he could brace his feet on the bed, driving up into him and pushing the most delicious little fucked-out cry of pleasure from Daniel's throat. Catching hold of his hips to hold him in place, he did it again, easily falling into a hard, quick pace that left him seeing stars, Daniel crying out his pleasure against his mouth.

"Oh god yes," Daniel sobbed, bucking down to meet him. "God, like that - oh John, you do remember - "

Yes, there was something wonderfully familiar about this. He knew how to do this, how to angle to make Daniel cry out in pleasure, how the hard, quick snaps of his hips just so would leave Daniel near incoherent with pleasure. How it was even better to push a hand between them and curl it around his lover's lube-slick cock, pressing it into his own stomach and letting each buck of his hips drive Daniel's cock into his fingers.

It felt too good, the pleasure too sweet to hold back. "My darling," he gasped, trying to hold off, to keep the bucks of his hips even as his body ached for completion, even as he jerked Daniel's cock more frantically. "God, Daniel... my love, god, please - "

The choked, desperate sob his words drew from Daniel's throat was like nothing he'd ever heard before, but then Daniel was spilling in his fingers, shuddering around John's cock, hot and tight and perfect. It tore away the last shred of John's self control, and he came with a cry, grinding against his ass as the waves of pleasure took him, burying himself in perfection again and again as he spilled inside him.

Panting, he let go of Daniel's hip to tangle his fingers in his hair, finding his mouth with his own, kissing him again and again as they both gasped for breath. A soft whimper escaped his throat. This couldn't be it for them, it couldn't - 

"I'm sorry I waited," Daniel whispered, shivering against him. "I'm so sorry, John - "

"Shh..." John kissed away his words, stroking his fingers down his spine. "It's alright. It's alright, my love. We'll make up for it. Tonight, tomorrow, whenever you like. I promise...."

"John...." Daniel let out a long breath, lips finding his again, and as John continued to stroke his back, felt his lover's shivers begin to ebb. "Could we...." Daniel started finally, drawing back to look down at him, cheeks flushed pink. "John, do you think we could... do this more today? I promise I'll let you sleep before tonight, I - "

Even spent, John felt his cock twitch in interest at the idea. "I can't think of anything more energizing," he said, brushing his thumb against Daniel's bottom lip and watching him smile. "It'll be good luck. You'll see. How could I bear to lose you after this...?"

Giving him a trembling smile, Daniel leaned in to kiss him again. "... you'll win for me?"

"I promise," John murmured, and despite all the unknown, had no doubt that he could do just that.

~~~


	5. Amour

Waking up with an hour to midnight, Leon was surprised by how calm he felt. He dressed quickly but neatly, pulling on a light blue button down and vest with dress slacks, because even though he knew the Masters would provide him with clothing appropriate for the duel, that was no excuse to be sloppy. Then he took his sword belt from the chest at the foot of the bed, unsheathing the blade and testing the edge with his finger, letting the weight and balance of it settle in his hand. Light and strong and purposefully chosen to match the weight of his practice foils. A blade he could use in his sleep.

Buckling the blade about his hips, he pulled on his longest trench coat over top of it, then started for the arena at the center of the city, pausing only for a cup of coffee and a muffin to fuel the day.

By the time he reached The Arena at Central and Main, his nerves were buzzing in anticipation. It was nothing like the nervousness he felt around Frank, nothing like fear. Finally he felt strong, confident. Ready to win.

And winning would change everything.

He nodded to the black-robed figure that stood beside the gates to the arena, stepping through and grasping the silver door handle. The ring that Frank had given him clicked into place with ease, activating the lock and opening the doors up to the staircase to the lower levels. It was longer than he'd imagined, but as the light grew brighter, as the noise of the Masters grew louder, it only strengthened his resolve.

Would Frank be watching? Leon wondered as he made his way down the stairs. Would he even know about the duel? He hoped so. He wanted Frank to see, he realized. Wanted him to witness Leon's strength as he took the bride. As he did what was necessary to gain what he longed for. And then he'd make Daniel tell Frank the truth about everything, force him to see....

When the wall finally opened to reveal the arena, Leon stepped out into the light, only momentarily surprised to discover that his clothes, somehow, changed into the neat black slacks and tailcoat of a Duelist. He'd expected to have to change, and laughed softly at himself for underestimating the Masters' power, striding confidently out into the center of the arena. He nodded politely to Murdoch, then turned to the Doctor. "Give me my rose. I'm ready."

Daniel lowered his head in a respectful nod. "Very well. You know the rules." He took one of the white roses from his breast pocket, carefully attaching it to John's breast, and Leon tried to ignore the look that passed between them as Daniel patted his chest gently. Whatever care Daniel might show towards the Champion was a lie. Just part of his game, just part of his manipulations.

"You don't have to do this," Daniel said softly as he approached him, taking the rose from his pocket. "This didn't win his love last time, and it won't do it this time either."

Leon stared at him, jerking back at the last moment as Daniel went to fasten the rose. "Wait - what do you mean, last time?"

"When you were the Champion." Daniel held his gaze calmly, unblinking. "The only thing that will get you the miracle you long for is if you tell him about your feelings, Leon."

"I've never been the Champion," Leon shot back, feeling cold and hot at once. "I don't know what you're playing at - "

"You were," Daniel replied patiently. "You loved him then, just as you love him now. You told me yourself. If you go through with this duel you will lose, and they'll erase you again, and you'll have to start over again from scratch."

"Doctor," called one of the masters, and for the first time Leon saw a flash of fear on Daniel's face.

"It's not too late," he hissed quickly, sounding more desperate. "You can still recall your challenge, you can still - "

Of course - that's what this was about. Leon felt his anger boil over. "Like hell I will! I'm not falling for your games, Bride! Give me the rose. This duel is mine!"

"No more delays, Doctor," said one of the men who stood behind Murdoch, taking the hilt of the champion's sword from the bag himself, the shining blade coming into being. 

Lips pressed tight, Daniel hurriedly pinned the second rose to Leon's breast, then returned to them, taking the sword from the man with a bow before offering the hilt to John. "The Masters of the arena grant their champion the power to pursue eternity."

John nodded, taking the sword, and Leon unsheathed his own, taking a stance to fight as the booming voice of the Masters' leader rang out over the arena with the chime of the clock reaching midnight.

"Let the Duel Commence."

Leon had seen Murdoch fight before, both before Walenski and after he'd lost his memories. The challenge that had won back the Bride had been a joke compared to his previous fights, completely undisciplined, untrained. But then that strange power had manifested, turning the tables in an instant. Well, Leon wasn't about to let that happen.

He went on the offensive immediately, driving Murdoch back with quick, deft strokes that he struggled to block, twisting from one at the last moment to jerk the rose just out of reach of the tip of Leon's sword, which caught and sliced through the gold braid along his lapel instead. Murdoch held his gaze without faltering as they fought, green eyes determined and intense, but Leon could use that to his advantage, too. Unlike on the _piste_ , Leon didn't have to consider rules and boundaries, and he used that to his advantage, driving Murdoch back towards the wall of the arena so that he'd have nowhere to run. 

"John!" he heard Daniel cry behind them, and Murdoch's focus shifted - not long enough for Leon to take advantage of, but enough for the man to realize his intentions. He leapt back and out of the range of Leon's blade, sprinting to put distance between himself and the wall of the arena.

Murdoch raised the Champion's sword, guarding as he watched Leon turn to face him again. "You're good. But whatever reason you have to win, you won't. I love him. I'm not letting you take him from me."

Leon gave a hard, barked laugh before he could stop himself. "You're a fool if you think he loves you," he spat, darting forward again to attack. "He doesn't love anyone! He's using you! You'll see!"

"Even so... I'm still going to protect him from you!" The flash of determination in Murdoch's eyes was the only warning Leon received. Then something was slamming into him, hard and unrelenting, knocking the sword from his hand and the breath from his lungs. It sent him tumbling back to the arena floor, and as he heard the clock above him chime, Leon didn't have to look for the rose at his breast to know.

He'd lost the duel.

He closed his eyes with a soft moan, not caring about the shadowy features that approached him. They didn't matter. What would Frank think of him now? He'd be so disappointed....

"Sleep," he heard one of them tone, and the world went black around him.

~~~

"Put him down! Now!"

For a moment Leon couldn't register the voice that had spoken, the darkness that surrounded him leaving him woozy and disoriented, far more so than just shaking off sleep. He heard a soft, fearful whimper, then the voice again, stronger. Unmistakable.

"Don't think that I won't pull the trigger! Let him go!"

Frank.

Leon felt like he could hardly breathe - was he hanging upside-down? He gave a soft moan, tried to open his eyes. At the same time, how could he look Frank in the eye after failing? 

"You will not hurt the Bride, Inspector. You cannot. Lower your gun, or there will be consequences for your disobedience."

"To hell with your consequences. Put him down, or you'll have to find a new bride, and a new spy, I promise you that! I won't let you take him from me again!"

For a moment there was silence. Then Leon was falling, crying out in pain as the side of his body hit the ground painfully. He felt himself lifted, supported, and struggled to open his eyes - was someone talking to him?

Frank, cradling him, so worried. So close to him. "Leon? Come on, sweetheart." His hand was warm on Leon's cheek, his hair, even as Frank moaned in dismay. "Oh god, you foolish boy. Why did you do that? You weren't ready, I didn't... I didn't want to fail you again, god, Leon, please wake up...."

A rush of shame filled him, and Leon gave a soft moan of dismay. I'm sorry I failed you, he wanted to say. I'm sorry I wasted your time... "Frank...." he managed, and over him, he heard Frank give a choked sob of relief.

Then he felt the unmistakable press of Frank's lips to his forehead, trembling. His arm tightened around Leon's shoulders. "It's okay. It's alright, sweetheart, just come back to me. I'm here. Shh... oh god, Leon, don't cry, I'm here...."

He was crying, Leon realized, breath hitching as he tried to draw breath. He curled closer to him, burying his face in Frank's neck, fingers clenching in the collar of his jacket. "I'm sorry," he managed to gasp. "I know... I know I was stupid. I just... I saw you with him and I couldn't stand it...."

"What...?" Frank's fingers cupped his cheek, tugging him back to meet his gaze. His eyes were so beautiful, Leon couldn't help but think. So warm and concerned, a ring of gray around pupils blown wide in the dim light of the arena entrance. "With... Daniel?"

Leon bit his lip and nodded. "He's manipulating you," he said, part of him wondering how he'd gotten so bold. "He's manipulating all of us. I'm sorry I disappointed you. I just wanted...."

"I know," Frank said quietly, looking away. "I know that very well. I'm sorry if I ever let you believe otherwise."

Frank knew? Then how.... Suddenly Leon's mind returned to the arena, to the things the Doctor had said to him. "... he said I fought before."

Frank gave a small, barely perceptible nod. "More than once," he said, words quiet but harsh, as if torn from his lips. "That's my fault. I thought I could protect you this time. Thought if I could keep you from fighting...." he shook his head. "Shouldn't have brought you back into this. I'm sorry. I just... I can't be without you, Leon."

He sounded so helpless, so heartbroken. And yet at the same time, his words were so much of what Leon had wanted to hear him say for such a long time. Leon dared to touch his shoulder, stroking his fingers over the fine fabric of his suit jacket. "It's alright. I'll fight for you as many times as I need to. My place is by your side, sir."

Frank managed a shaky smile. "It's just Frank, Leon," he murmured, and then his lips were against his, warm and sure and needy, claiming his again and again.

Leon whimpered, lips parting to his without hesitation. He could hardly believe that he was awake, yet at the same time he felt more alive than he could remember, pulse racing, body warm everywhere Frank had touched him. He whimpered, sliding his fingers up into Frank's hair, craving more, and heard Frank give a soft groan.

"My sweet Leon," Frank whispered, fingers stroking his face, his hair. "The Bride means nothing to me. He never has. Not compared to you."

Leon felt like he could barely breathe, drawing a gasping breath against his lips. "I'm so in love with you, sir," he managed, and Frank gave a low, helpless moan, kissing him again.

"Come home with me. Let me get you out of this place," he whispered, and Leon felt a thrill of happiness at the thought.

"There's nothing in the world I want more."

~~~

His mind was clearer by the time the reached what proved to be a very nice town house, by the time Frank brought him inside, a hand on the small of Leon's back, warm and possessive. Frank's house felt comfortable to him, and it took no courage for Leon to step close to him, stroking his arms up around Frank's neck to claim another of his slow, sweet kisses from his lips. He felt Frank shiver as he kissed him, fingers digging into the small of his back. "Leon...."

"Did I forget this?" Leon asked, and watched Frank's eyes clench shut.

"Every time," he replied, his voice a helpless whisper, rough and low. "You forget how we were together, and I ... I couldn't make you remember...."

"No." Leon pressed another kiss to his mouth, feeling another rush of arousal as Frank's arms tightened around him. "I loved you the moment I saw you, sir," he breathed. "All you had to do was kiss me...."

"God, Leon...." Then Frank was doing just that, hard and trembling, licking into his mouth as if even breathing wasn't as important as kissing him. He pressed Leon back against the wall of his front entry, and Leon arched up against him with a groan, drunk on his intensity, on the feel of Frank's body against his.

It was hard to think about anything else but wanting him, standing up on his tiptoes to be closer to him, feeling the delightful hardness of Frank's cock press into his stomach as he tried to grind up against him. Frank's hands slid down to cup and squeeze his ass, encouraging him, and Leon felt his hips give a helpless buck against him.

"Take me to bed, Frank," he managed to gasp. "Please. Make love to me. I need you inside me, don't wanna waste anymore time...."

"Oh god..." Frank gave him another hard kiss, groaning into his mouth as he sucked hungrily at his bottom lip. Then Leon was being pulled upstairs and into the bedroom, and Frank was going to work on his clothes with familiar expertise, covering his neck and shoulders with kisses as they were bared until Leon was gloriously nude in front of him. Frank's clothes were a little more tricky, but he managed enough that when Frank pulled back to look hungrily down Leon's naked body he was topless, and Leon let his eyes feast on him with a moan, looking over his strong shoulders and arms, imagining being held, pushed down, fucked....

Leon bit his lip on a moan, wrapping his fingers around his own cock, groaning at the way it made Frank's eyes darken. Then, with more boldness than he felt, he stepped past Frank, letting his fingers trail over his chest as he did. He drew back the covers on Frank's bed, then climbed up into it, holding Frank's gaze as he lounged back against the pillows, letting his thighs fall apart as he stroked himself. "Please...."

"Jesus, Leon...." Frank had the rest of his clothes off and was on him without hesitation, breath hot on his inner thighs as he pushed them farther apart and leaned down to kiss up one hungrily. He sucked at Leon's cock with a hungry groan, fumbling in his bedside drawer, and in moments was pressing slick fingers up into him, stretching him open with familiar efficiency that made Leon gasp and groan, shuddering, pressing up into the penetration.

"I'll take care of you this time," Frank whispered, kissing his stomach, his chest, his mouth. "I'll protect you. Whatever it takes. I promise...."

Fumbling with the lube, Leon managed to get a hand between them, slicking his cock, pulling his thighs up against Frank's sides. "You already have," he breathed, pulling Frank closer, and before he could think to ask again Frank was pushing into him, insistent and almost desperate, the thick girth of his cock stretching him wide. It was too much, too big, but at the same time not enough when he'd wanted it for so long. Leon whimpered, pushing up onto him, feeling his body clench and shudder around the intrusion as Frank slid deeper, the girth of his cock filling him tight, putting pressure against his sweet spot. Leon cried out, shuddering, overwhelmed by the rush of sensation, fingers digging into Frank's back. Being taken, being filled so tight was so overwhelming that it was all he could feel, all he could think of.

Frank shuddered against him, hips stuttering into him roughly, burying his face in the crook of Leon's neck with a helpless groan, nipping at his collarbone. "God, sweetheart, I can't - "

"Don't hold back," Leon managed to gasp, crying out as he gave a harder thrust, hips grinding against his ass, and in moments the sensation was so intense that all he could feel was pleasure, sharp and overwhelming with each desperate buck of Frank's hips.

"God yes," he managed to sob, pulling his thighs higher, crying out as the sensation intensified. "Oh god, Frank - fuck me - "

Frank growled against his skin, biting down at the crook of his neck, picking up the pace until each thrust jarred his body with pleasure. "Mine," he growled against Leon's skin. "Always, only mine, my Leon - "

Leon tried to answer, but it was too good, the pound of Frank's cock driving the intensity to a fever pitch. All he could do was hold on and wail out his pleasure, overwhelmed by the intensity of stimulation, thighs trembling as they clamped against Frank's sides. The jerk of Frank's hips grew erratic, breath hot and hard against Leon's skin, one arm wrapping tight around his waist to hold him to him as he pushed deep, cry throaty and helpless against his skin. Leon felt him pulse inside him, still grinding into him with relentless desperation as he filled him with hot, slick spurts of his seed, and the added sensation was all that Leon cold take. He clenched down around Frank's cock, sobbing at the perfect, painful intensity of his orgasm as he came, lost to the ecstasy that made the whole world black out around him.

When he could think again Frank was pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to his stomach and thighs and cock, licking at the streaks of his seed. He urged Leon's thighs higher, drawing his tongue up the crease of his ass and over his well-used hole, a warm, gentle caress that made Leon shiver at moan at the added sensation. "Frank...."

"Sweetheart," Frank murmured, finally moving back up to kiss him, and Leon cuddled closer, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

"I love you so much," he whispered, nuzzling his face into Frank's neck. "I just wanted to be with you... I couldn't stand the thought of anyone else... I wanted so badly to be your Bride...."

Frank gave a soft moan of dismay and pulled back to cut off his words with a kiss. "You don't. Don't ever say that. Trust me Leon. You're worth far, far more to me than that."

Leon bit his lip. He had no doubt that Frank was telling the truth, his words serious and intent. But it was hard to relegate that with all of the feelings he'd had over the past while. "But... Daniel... when you're with him, you just seem...." he stopped, shaking his head.

Frank sighed, stroking his fingers through Leon's hair. "I won't deny that it's complicated. Daniel is... complicated. Sometimes I think he's the victim in all this. The way I've seen him treated by some of the champions...." He stopped, shaking his head. "At the same time... he gets to people. Even you. The first time you told me how you felt about me it was because of him. Because you were... with him."

The thought felt impossible to contemplate, left Leon feeling unsettled, strangely violated. "No. No, that's impossible. I don't - I've never wanted anyone but you, sir, I - "

"I know," Frank soothed, pressing a kiss to his mouth. "I know, sweetheart. Because I feel the same. But the Bride... he gets inside you. The first time I lost you...." He stopped, eyes falling closed. "I beat Walenski so thoroughly that I hurt him for real. Losing you... I felt shattered, I felt like nothing in the world mattered anymore. I was so drunk, and somehow Daniel knew how I felt about you, he knew everything, and I couldn't...."

Leon pressed his fingers to his lips, stopping his words. "I wanted to win tonight so that I could force him to tell you that it was all a lie, all a manipulation. But... you already know that, don't you?"

Frank nodded, looking miserable. "I always knew. I watched him do it over and over. And I still couldn't... and I hated myself for it. He kept me together when I thought I would fall apart without you. But he was never you, Leon. He'll never be you. You're the only one I love, and I'll do everything I can to show you that, sweetheart."

His words were so earnest, so intent. Was it really as he said, had they really been together before? Perhaps he'd never truly know. But he knew how he felt about Frank. How he'd always felt.

"I believe you," he said softly, and arched up to kiss his lover.

~~~

John awoke in his apartment, in the softness of his bed. Awoke to soft kisses, to Daniel curling close to him in nothing but his shirtsleeves and slacks, his fingers already tugging the buttons of John's shirt undone. "My champion," he whispered, and John pulled him closer, down into the exquisite pleasure of their newfound carnality, kissing and touching him and making love to him until he'd almost forgotten about the duel all together.

Almost.

"I need to learn to fight," he said, musing it over afterwards, and Daniel raised his head with a sleepy, inquiring noise. "To sword fight," he clarified. "Whatever's happening down there, whatever... power I have to protect you, I... I can't control how it works. When it works. I can't rely on that. I have to be able to protect you. Do you... do you know how I can learn?"

Daniel regarded him for a moment, then nodded slowly, lips turning into a small smile. "I know just the place.

~~~

Body aching in ways she was far too familiar with, May Jensen turned the shower in her apartment on hot and stepped into the water, starting to scrub _work_ from her skin. She'd given in to Williams' advances again in his hotel room, and the fucker had left teeth marks on her shoulder. She frowned, rubbing at them harder with the washcloth, as if scrubbing could fix her bruised skin.

There were worse ways to make a living, she told herself. She'd managed to establish herself well with a certain grade of clientele who were just as happy to have a beautiful woman on their arm at the club as they were to fuck a warm body. And she'd built enough of a nest egg that she could afford to take a day or two away when needed, as long as she kept the very wealthy ones like Williams interested.

His money was too important to lose. Especially now.

Finally satisfied with her cleanliness, she stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in clean, fluffy towels and smiling as she heard the jingle of keys in the front door, heard the voice that made her heart skip a beat.

"May? I'm home."

Not bothering with clothes, May stepped out of the bathroom and into her lover's arms. "Welcome home, sugar," she breathed, and pulled Mrs. Emma Murdoch into a slow, sweet kiss.

~~~


	6. Emma Murdoch

The Eleven Central Club was a regular haunt for May, and a favorite. The owner was an occasional client of hers, who recognized the value of a beautiful single woman in his club, as long as she encouraged her suitors to ring up a respectable bar tab before taking her home at the end of the night. It was close enough to home to take a date there if she needed to, though it had been some time since she'd last done that. She'd been playing the game long enough to be choosy with her repeat customers. Men with money and empty houses, or wives far away from the hotel rooms they took her to.

And sometimes, when she wasn't employing her charms, the Eleven Central Club became a place to rest. To slip into the back for a bite with one of the bartenders, to chat with a waitress on her break. And sometimes, if she was lucky, steal a glimpse of the club's leading lady in her tiny dressing room, dressing the perfect curves of her body in a waterfall of sequins or satin or velvet.

The beautiful, incomparable Emma.

It was hard to imagine how anyone could be more beautiful, more glamorous. May knew she was a looker, of course - men paid for the privilege of telling her so - but Emma was something special. Dark and sultry with piercing blue-green eyes, when Emma took the stage it felt as if she could make anyone and everyone fall in love with her. They'd never had a conversation, but May couldn't help but feel that they had an unspoken understanding; between Emma's sets, when she's go to the bar closest by the stage for a glass of champagne, May would always keep an eye on her. Distract any of the patrons who might get a little too handsy while the pretty singer safely made her retreat. And afterwards, when Emma was back on stage, she would find May in the crowd, smiling and holding her gaze as she sang.

Sometimes May let herself believe that Emma was singing just for her in those moments.

She'd always imagined that Emma must have the most glamorous of lives. Perhaps she had a rich and handsome boyfriend at home, or perhaps her pick of admirers, adoring men hanging on her every word like Holly Golightly.

The last thing she expected was to walk by the cracked-open door to the woman's dressing room one night to hear the unmistakable sound of muffled crying.

For a long moment May stood still, torn between the few steps it would take her to disappear into the club and the dressing room door, the room beyond it unmistakably dark. Then she sighed, turning back to grab a cloth napkin, and take a clean glass from the bus station, filling it with water.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door to the dressing room a bit wider, keeping her voice soft and low. "You want a glass of water, sugar, or should I get you something stronger from the bar?"

The dim light from the hallway only just illuminated the woman's form where she sat crumpled on the dressing room chair, still in her overcoat, two battered suitcases sitting at her feet. Emma straightened slightly, trying to draw a slow breath, shuddering as it caught in her through. "Um... yes, I... water. I'm sorry, I didn't mean... didn't know anyone was here yet, I just...."

May sank to her knees in front of the chair, pressing the glass into her hands and curling her fingers around it. "Don't worry, sweetie. Just take a drink. It's quiet out there. No need to face the world yet."

Emma managed a silent nod, taking a long drink of the water, her breath calming a little as she exhaled. "Thank you," she said softly. "Please... don't tell Mr. Saito. I... I really need to perform tonight."

Performing seemed like the last thing this woman would be capable of, but May kept that thought to herself. She pressed the dry napkin into Emma's fingers alongside the woman's sodden handkerchief. "You sure, honey? Mr. Saito will give you the night off if you need it..."

"No," she said quickly. "No, I'm fine. I will be. I have to be. I need to take my mind off things. And I... " She stopped, shaking her head, shoulders slumped and posture defeated. "I don't think I have anywhere else to go right now...."

May let her hand rest on the woman's knee, just above the hem of her skirt, and gave it a reassuring squeeze as she regarded her. Despite the tears, it didn't appear as though anyone had laid hands on her, though May was well aware that kind of thing didn't always leave a mark. "Did someone hurt you, honey? I could get one of the guys to - "

"No," Emma said quickly, shaking her head. She blinked two more tears free, dabbing at them with the cloth napkin and sniffling. "No. Thank you. I'm not hurt, I..." her lips pursed, trembling. "I left. I'm the one that hurt him."

May kept rubbing her knee gently, wishing she dared to do more. "Your boyfriend?"

"Husband." Emma's whisper was soft and heartbroken, leading to more tears. "I wish he'd been angry with me. I wanted him to be angry. But he was just... so sad...."

"How could anyone be angry with a sweet little thing like you?" May tried futilely to lighten the mood, but her words just made Emma collapse into sobs again, covering her face with her hands and the crumpled napkin. May gave a soft noise of dismay, raising up on her knees so she could rub the woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Don't cry, sugar. I'm sure we can find a way out of this for you...."

"I - I had an affair," Emma gasped. "I don't even know why I did it. I don't love him. I just got so caught up in his money, his flattery... and now I can't face my husband, and I have nowhere else to go but here, and I... I just don't know what to do...."

May made another soothing noise, still stroking her shoulder. "Listen sweetie, how about we do this? I have a little place about a block away. It's small but it's warm and quiet and my bed's plenty big enough for a guest. You can stay with me until you figure out what you're going to do, okay? Let's take your bags there, and we can order some takeout and have a bite to eat. You haven't eaten today, have you?"

Emma blinked at her, dark eyelashes matted with tears, eyebrows knit in confusion. "With - with you? But... you don't even know me, you - I don't even know your name...."

"I'm May," May replied without hesitation. "And I think we've been around enough that we're not total strangers. Plus, we girls have to look out for each other, don't we?"

Her words seemed to calm Emma a little. "... you've always been very kind, May," she said softly. "I... I shouldn't impose. Your husband - "

A giggle burst from May's lips before she could hold it back. "I haven't had to take any of my boyfriends home to my place for a while, sugar. Don't worry. There'll be no one there but you and me."

They ended up sitting at the tiny card table in her kitchenette, eating chinese food over a bottle of cheap white wine that she replaced with a bottle of half-decent whiskey when it disappeared. Halfway through the bottle they moved to the bed by necessity, sprawled drunkenly on top of the covers as they continued their conversation. Emma was sweeter than she could have imagined, and witty, between her bouts of melancholy, and it was far too easy to end up far drunker than she'd ever intended.

Even looking back on it, she couldn't determine which of them had kissed the other first. Had she been trying to comfort Emma? Or had the other woman been laughing at something she'd said? She remembered the kiss, though, the softness of Emma's lips pressed to hers, sweet and trembling. The way Emma had moaned, low and needy, lips parting to her caresses to taste May's lips and tongue. She'd curled close, closer, as if craving May's touch, her curves alluring and perfect and entirely irresistible.

"I... don't want to impose," Emma had whispered, though her fingers were already tracing the length of May's side, the caress just shy of the side of her breast, the most delicious tease.

"You're not imposing in the least, honey," May had murmured, stroking her fingers through her hair and watching Emma's eyes fall closed. "I invited you here, remember? And I... I think I've wanted to kiss you for a very long time."

Emma's answering smile was sweet and shy in a way May had never seen before, and something about it both melted her completely and made her want to never stop kissing her, to never stop touching her. She was drunk enough that she didn't have to address questions of what to do or whether or not she _should_ \- it was just her, and Emma, and Emma's exquisite, tantalizingly sexy form, which she offered to May without restraint.

It was completely unlike being with a clients, May reflected. Even drunk, Emma's touch was electrifying, and May craved it, craved touching her in return more than she'd craved anything she could remember. The managed to get their clothes half removed between kisses that grew exceedingly hungry, Emma's blouse undone and her full breasts scooped out of her bra so that May could stroke and tease them. Her suit jacket landed somewhere on the floor with May's bra, May's own dress bunched around her waist, like Emma's skirt, as their bodies tangled together.

Emma's lips were sweet when she shifted to kiss and suckle at her breasts, her hands cupping and caressing them as she teased her nipples with her lips and tongue, and it felt to may like no man she'd ever been with had been able to awaken such pleasure, like they'd all been a poor approximation of this. She whined, one thigh hooked over Emma's hips, shifting and wriggling until the other woman's silk-stockinged thigh was pressed against her sex, until May was grinding against her shamelessly, gasping in pleasure and aching for more.

She wasn't quite sure how or when Emma had managed to work a hand between them, only that the feel of her fingers against May's silk panties had been exquisite, as had the low, wanton groan that left Emma's lips as she pressed them against her, stroking over fabric that must have been slick with May's arousal. Even better was when she managed to pull them aside to touch her directly, stroking and teasing and letting the length of them slide slick against her, rubbing against her clit and along the length of her sex. The sensation was even more intoxicating than the whisky, and before May could think more she was fucking herself on her beautiful lover's fingers, rocking onto them as Emma crooked them up inside her. She whimpered out her pleasure as each buck of her hips pushed the mound of her fingers into her clit, drove her up into her until May was tumbling over the edge, lost in her own pleasure in a way that she hadn't been in a very long time.

Afterwards she yanked Emma's skirt off and buried her face between her thighs, licking and sucking and owning her pleasure until her lover was a breathless, trembling mess, all the while working her own fingers up inside of her for the most self indulgent pleasure, and when they'd finally fallen asleep together, May's last coherent thought was that she selfishly hoped that Emma would stay for a very, very long time.

"I don't want to impose," the beautiful woman had said after they woke up the next evening, sitting at May's card table in one of her robes having breakfast-dinner. She hadn't quite been able to meet May's gaze, which saddened her. "I... I know I took advantage of you last night, I...."

May had giggled, stepping forward boldly to press a kiss to her hair. "Oh honey, you couldn't have taken advantage of me if you'd tried. And you're not imposing at all. We're just a couple of girlfriends spending some time together, right?"

Emma glanced up at her, searching her gaze, and wet her lips. "Do you... still want to spend more time together?"

"After last night, how could I not?" May smiled, boldly letting her thumb press gently to Emma's bottom lip. "I mean, I still have my work and you have your job, but there's nothing saying we can't have a bit of fun on the side, right? Not saying you have to feel obligated, of course. You're welcome to stay here either way."

She watched the other woman's lips press tightly together. "I don't want to lead you on," she murmured. "My husband... if he ever forgives me.... I love him, May."

"Of course," May replied, and in that moment had genuinely wanted to see her find her heart's desire. "You'll only be here until then."

Two weeks later, though, as she fell asleep twined around the perfect beauty of Emma's body, she found herself quietly, selfishly hoping it would never happen.

~~~

 

"Again." Inspector Frank Bumstead raised his foil, and John groaned.

Whatever prowess he'd managed to summon in the Arena had failed to translate to fencing. His strange powers had yet to manifest during any of their matches, which was probably a good thing, given how patient the Inspector had been with him.

"You're still leaving your left side open," Husselbeck - Leon - said from the bench. "And you need to stay more aware of where you are on the piste. Remember that's how I almost had you."

"You wish you almost had me," John retorted back, still rather surprised that he could joke so openly with the young man after they'd faced off with such intensity in the arena. Leon had even somehow managed to keep his memories after losing, though no-one seemed in a hurry to tell him how.

Probably something to do with the Inspector. Frank. Who had responded to Daniel's request that he train John after a simple and cryptic threat from his lover. "After your stunt last night you owe me, Frank."

"That's fair," Frank had replied, and taken them to the fencing salle.

He'd much rather be in bed with Daniel, John felt himself thinking as he took his stance again, trying to remain aware of his form and anticipate Frank's moves at once. But he couldn't be sure when the next duel would be, or with who. And Daniel always took care of him after, bathing with him, rubbing tired muscles and lavishing attention on his body, their lovemaking slow and intense and perfect.

He glanced to where Daniel sat on the bench with Leon, lost in a book, and if sensing his gaze, Daniel glanced up at him and smiled, warm and sweet.

It was worth it.

He didn't mind when Daniel pulled Frank aside to talk quietly after practice. Instead he headed into the change rooms, stripping out of his gear and rubbing a towel over his surprisingly sweaty hair.

"Mr. Murdoch?" The young officer hovered at the door to the change room, and John gave him a warm smile.

"Hey. And just John is fine, Leon. Thanks for helping with all this. You didn't have to."

Leon smiled, giving a little shrug. "I like to help the inspector. This isn't any trouble." He hesitated for a moment, watching him before continuing. "It's... why I challenged you."

"Because of Frank?" John guessed, and at Leon's answering nod he smiled, feeling the warmth of the adoration he felt for Daniel grow. "I can understand that. I suppose it's similar for me, now. At the beginning it was just about trying to recover my memories, but...."

Leon nodded, but looked distinctly troubled as he did. He glanced back towards the door of the change room, then stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Mr - John. You trust him?"

"I think I have to at this point." It was too much of a reminder of the insecurities John too often thought about, and he forced a smile, repeating the words he'd said to himself many times. "I've thrown my lot in with him, for better or worse. And... I care about him."

Leon gave a soft hum of understanding. "I don't remember my time as the champion. But Frank says he has a way of being very... of evoking those kind of feelings. Just... be careful? The days before I challenged you... maybe it was the Masters, I don't know. I look back and wonder if someone was pulling my strings, trying to force me into doing what they wanted to do. There will be others that come looking for you. So... just protect yourself, yeah?"

John nodded, thinking back to the duel. To Daniel. "I'll protect him," he said quietly, completely missing the look on Leon's face that meant he wasn't reassured at all.

~~~

 

It was dark, when Emma awoke, the sun long set. But that had been her life for as long as she could remember. Waking after dusk, getting ready to perform at the club. Working late, and eventually crawling into bed, into her husband's arms.

It had been her life before she'd ruined it, before she'd let one drunken mistake - with a man who wasn't even half as handsome as John - turn into two, then three. The more it had happened the more impossible it had been to say no to him, and when he moved on to someone else a week later Emma had been far more relieved than heartbroken.

Relieved, until the guilt had proved too much, and finally she'd told John the truth of things and left.

_I can't forgive myself for being untrue. Please don't seek me out until you can be quite sure that you forgive me._

She thought often on the letter she'd left, with more and more despair. Part of her had hoped John would follow her immediately, seek her out, beg for them to reconcile. Part of her was terrified of what she'd do if he did. What would she say to him now, that she'd been living with May for so long? May, who was kinder than Emma had ever thought possible, whose sweet kisses and masterful touch was the only thing that could make Emma forget about everything that happened.

More than anything, Emma just wished that she could make herself forget about John for good. Clearly he wasn't going to come for her. It was only her own, stupid heart holding her back.

 _I wish I could just care for you like you care for me,_ she found herself thinking one morning long after May had fallen asleep in her arms, the sky through her apartment windows still pitch black in the pre-dawn. Her lover's golden curls fanned in a tumble across her back and shoulders and pillow, and Emma let herself run her fingers through them, trying to memorize the silken feel of them.

_I wish I could just start over. With you._

"You going to be okay on your own tonight, sugar?" May asked the next evening as she dressed, in velvet and silk stockings, clasping a set of pearls around her neck. 

Her date must be richer than normal, Emma found herself thinking, thoughts subsequently straying to her own mistake of an affair, unwelcome and disobedient. She forced herself to smile, nodding. "I'll be fine. Thank you. I'll stay in and finish that book that Penny let me borrow." Staying in May's apartment on her own still felt a little strange, but she couldn't be at the club every night.

"Alright." May leaned down to give her a hug, pressing her cheek to Emma's hair to preserve her carefully applied lipstick. She left a faint cloud of perfume behind as she pulled away. "I'll see you later, sweetie."

She dressed, so as not to feel like a complete slob all day, settling in May's single easy chair with the book and then finding it impossible to concentrate. Finally she went out, just to stretch her legs, strolling through the streets in the vague direction of the river without really thinking much.

It was chilly, especially when she only had the light jacket she'd taken with her when she'd left John. She had a heavier one at home - a lovely, deep blue-green wool - but weighing herself down with it was the last thing she'd wanted when she left.

She still had her house keys, of course. She could go back and get it, she found herself thinking, feeling her stomach flip unpleasantly at the thought of possibly seeing John again. Was she ready for that? What would he say? Surely he'd be angry. But John had never been rough or unkind to her. Perhaps she could just go back home for the coat. And perhaps he wouldn't be there at all. Go and leave again, like no-one had ever been there.

Determinedly, she set her feet on a path for home, climbing the five floors of stairs to their apartment and feeling a little as if she was doing it for the first time. Then she unlocked the door and slipped inside.

The apartment was empty, and surprisingly very tidy, something John never quite managed on his own. Emma didn't know if the thought was cheering or depressing. She opened the wardrobe beside the front door, finding her heavy jacket and burrowing into it, sighing as the warmth enveloped her; she'd been colder than she thought. Then she went to close the wardrobe door again and froze.

There was another coat hanging there, too small to be John's, a fine chocolate wool. Certainly not his style, either. She stared at it for a long moment, trying to tell herself that it _must_ be a man's jacket. That it must belong to her husband. Surely....

She should leave, she told herself. Looking for proof of John having an affair would only be making things worse for herself. She should leave, she thought, even as she stepped into the bathroom to see the new white toothbrush in the cup with John's, and felt faintly ill.

The bedroom was neat, the bed made with carefully folded corners, something John rarely attempted. His pajamas were neatly folded beside the pillow, and beside that....

A pool of royal blue silk. Unmistakably, lingerie.

The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened, and suddenly Emma was colder than ever despite the jacket, trembling, feeling like her knees might not continue to support her weight. Turning, she bolted from the apartment, down the stairs and out into the night.

~~~

"...did I leave the door unlocked?" John paused with his hand on the knob, trying to think back.

"I'm sorry, John. I don't recall. Do you think something's the matter...?"

"Well, hopefully not." John pushed open the door slowly to peek inside the apartment, letting out a sigh of relief as the room came into view - empty, tidy, undisturbed. "I don't think anyone's inside."

"No harm done, then." Daniel followed him in, latching the door behind him.

John checked the bathroom, then the bedroom, just to reassure himself. There was a pile of blue silk on the bed, and he picked it up with a confused frown, letting the fine fabric slide through his fingers. It was a nightshirt, he realized, and turned back to where Daniel stood in the main room, hanging his coat in the closet. "Is this yours?"

"Ah." Daniel smiled as he lowered his head slightly, an adorable self-consciousness he'd never quite been able to drop even with the weeks they'd been together. He stepped into John to run his fingers over the silk garment in his fingers, looking up at him through his eyelashes in a way that John somehow found more appealing than most anything he'd experienced before. "Yes. I... thought you might like it on me."

"Seems a waste when you won't be wearing it for long," John replied with a smirk, and Daniel laughed softly, his cheeks flushing darker..

"You might decide you like it," he murmured, taking the nightshirt from his fingers as he arched up to press a kiss to his mouth, warm and undeniably inviting. "Would you like me to put it on for you, John?"

John groaned at the thought, stroking his hands down his back to pull him closer. "Absolutely."

~~~


	7. May Jensen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm _really_ sorry for the fade-to-black noncon. But at least I'm not gonna kill her like canon...??

Getting ready for work, May slipped into her closet, standing on her tiptoes to reach a biscuit tin on the top shelf. She took the lid off to take out the string of her mother's pearls, which sat nestled among several carefully rolled up wads of bills. She smiled, mentally tallying up the amount. Not enough for what she needed, of course, but eventually it would be. Especially if she kept taking Williams' calls. Eventually she could buy that little ice cream shop out in Shell Beach, leave this life of endless night-times and tricks and johns behind for the warmth and the sunshine and the sound of the waves. And maybe, just maybe...

Maybe Emma would go with her.

"You going to be okay on your own tonight, sugar?" May fastened the pearls behind her neck and smoothed down the black velvet bodice of her dress. Classy, she decided, but then this dress had always made her feel that way. A gift from a client for a fancy wine tasting event... what had been his name again? It didn't matter. Williams had an investor's dinner, which meant there was a solid chance of earning her keep without getting bitten again, as long as she looked the part....

"I'll be fine," Emma said, perched on the edge of May's sofa in the main room, watching her dress through the curtain of beads that hung before the bedroom. She still seemed stiff, as if she felt out of place.

It made May's heart twist painfully in her chest. The amount of alcohol consumed in the house on any given night had slowly gone down, as the weeks had gone by. And Emma was sweet, and kind, and more than anything May wish she knew how to take the sadness from her lover's eyes. To help her, somehow, to feel like she belonged.

Like she could forget about the past.

"Do you ever think about talking to him?" she'd asked carefully, one night after work when Emma more melancholy than usual but they hadn't yet had more than one glass of wine each. She shifted her chair closer to Emma, stroking her fingers through the long, sleek waterfall of her hair.

Emma had just laughed, soft and helpless and broken. "What would I say, May? I can't beg for him to take me back if he doesn't forgive me. And...." her breath shuddered as she exhaled, reaching across May to fill her glass again. "He hasn't even tried to come see me. It's been weeks, and he hasn't been to the club, hasn't...."

Emma in tears was always more than May could bear, and all she could do was try to distract her beautiful lover from them, to distract her and not bring the issue up again.

It was still on the tip of her tongue as she went to leave that night. Wishing Emma would do something, anything, to move forward from this spot she was in, this miserable waiting for something that clearly would never happen. "Alright," May said, and leaned down to give her a hug, wishing she could kiss her without smearing her lipstick. She nuzzled her hair instead, taking a moment to breath deep of the soft scent of her skin. "I'll see you later, sugar."

Then she pulled her ruffled capelet around her shoulders and headed out into the night.

It didn't take long to cab to Hotel West, slipping in through the social club entrance and handing Williams' card to the Maitre'd. He inclined his head politely. "Ah, of course. Right this way. Mr. Williams' party is entertaining in the presidential suite."

For a moment May hesitated. She'd expected a dinner at the social club; a suite was far too private for her liking. Especially with Williams. "How many are in attendance?"

"Three guests tonight, who ordered dinner a half hour ago." The Maitre'd tilted his head, voice softening a little. "Our suites are all wired for butler service, so if there is anything you need tonight, simply ring the bell and we will be along immediately."

"Of course. Thank you." May agreed, smiling and following him to the elevator. It was silly to feel worried when obviously Williams had just moved his investor dinner elsewhere, and despite his tendency to be bitey and demanding, Williams had never harmed her. Still, the thought of hotel staff nearby made her feel better.

"Ah, Dollface." Williams rose from the card table in the middle of the suite's parlour as she entered, leaving his cigar behind in the ashtray and coming to meet her, embracing her. "Now the night is perfect."

The game with Williams was easy, predictable. May let herself relax into the kiss with a breathless giggle. "You flatter me so, Mr. Williams."

"All deserved, doll. Here, a present for you. Come sit on my knee and have a drink while I beat the pants off these guys at poker."

Ah, so it would be that kind of party. "That sounds wonderful, Mr. Williams." May cracked the opening of the envelope, taking a quick glance to ensure the cash was in order, then tucking it into the breast pocket of her capelet. She hung the garment on the rack by the door, taking her handbag with her as she joined them at the table, slipping into the role that was expected of her with ease. Laughing at Williams' jokes, sitting perched on his knee. Keeping their glasses topped up, appearing to drink just enough herself to keep Williams from forcing more on her. Squirming on his lap just enough to please him whenever his fingers wandered up under her skirt to tease between her thighs. 

May suspected the others were letting him win. Not all the time, of course, that would be too obvious, but whenever a good sized pot was on the table. She couldn't particularly blame them. It was all part of playing the game.

"Great guys, aren't they, Doll?" Williams laughed as he raked in the inordinate amount of cash in another winning hand, whiskey thick on his breath. He'd gotten significantly more handsy, and May tried not to react out of the ordinary despite not liking the direction things were quickly going; with Williams, putting him off only made him more aggressive. "Backbone of my life."

"You always keep the best company, handsome," May agreed with a giggle. "Would you like another round?"

"Maybe in a minute. You know, I've been thinking something. These guys deserve the best. Deserve real top-notch hospitality. You'll help me out with that tonight, won't you, doll?" His fingers moved higher on her thigh, tracing the band of one stocking. "You're so good at making a guy feel special."

May felt her body go cold, then hot, pulse racing. She tried to keep her laughter light, tried not to think about the lead brick that had settled in her stomach. "You're such a dear to say that. Only, I'm so embarrassed to say - when you said you wanted to do dinner tonight I thought you meant dinner, silly me. So I'm due to meet my brother - "

"You're due to stay here." Williams' voice grew sterner. "Cancel your appointment. I'll pay you double."

May swallowed against the pound of the pulse in her ears. "Mr. Williams, I really can't - "

"Triple, then. Come on, doll. I know you want the cash."

"I - I'm not really into sharing on my dates," May heard herself say weakly, feeling even more faint as she heard two of his companions laugh across the table.

"Funny how the whore thinks she has a choice," one of them said, and Williams chuckled as well.

"You drive a hard bargain, Doll. All right, then. All the cash on the table. I think that's more than fair." He worked his fingers further up between her thighs, pushing roughly against her through her satin panties as he leaned closer to murmur in her ear. "Don't make me do this the hard way, May. I won't take no for an answer. I want to watch you get fucked."

May could feel her eyes burn, and blinked hard to try and keep her composure. It was a hell of a lot of cash, she tried to tell herself, and leaned forward to gather the bills off the table as the men laughed in delighted triumph.

"You were right. She's even cuter when she's scared," one of them said, draining his glass, and May grabbed Williams' mostly full glass herself, shooting back the whiskey for composure as the men laughed and cheered her on.

She tucked the wad of cash into her handbag, then stood. "All right, boys. How about one of you comes into the bedroom to help me take off this dress, huh?"

But the man who'd spoken last had already stood with her pulling against him with a laugh, cock pushing into her stomach where it already tented the front of his pants. "You're staying right here, doll. I'm going to have you just like this."

~~~

 

"He's got someone else," Emma sobbed on her lover's shoulder, the words spilling from her mouth almost immediately. She'd spent the night crying, on and off, wishing May would come home and trying not to feel like the other woman had abandoned her, too. "I went home and - there's someone else there living with him. He's replaced me, he's never coming for me...."

It took her a moment to realize that May wasn't saying anything, stiff and still as she held her apart from the hand that was gently stroking her back. Emma pulled back to look up at her, finding in her expression a kind of blank, hopeless exhaustion she'd never quite seen in May before. "...May?"

The other woman's expression gentled immediately into a soft smile. "Hey, let's take it easy for the rest of the night, okay, sugar? I bought us a big bottle of whiskey on the way home. Let's run a hot bath and get really drunk, okay?"

Emma nodded, following her into the bedroom, where May kicked off her shoes. She continued into the bathroom and cranked on the hot tap in the tub, pulling the whiskey from the brown paper back she'd been carrying and setting it on the back of the toilet tank.

"Should I get some glasses? Emma asked, but May just shook her head, a strange wildness behind the exhaustion in her smile.

"Nah. We can just drink from the bottle, can't we?" May reached back behind her, blindly searching for the zipper on her dress, and Emma stepped forward to help her, drawing the zipper carefully down the center of her back towards the slit at the center of the skirt.

"Oh... May, this dress has a rip in it." Emma smoothed her hands over the velvet. "RIght along the seam, too... what happened?"

"I was just careless," May replied, as if it meant nothing. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, sugar."

"Alright. Still, it's a shame." She finished unzipping it, helping May wriggle out of it. "It was nice dress."

"Yeah," May replied. "It was."

~~~

 

Whiskey had been a good choice, May reflected later, as she lay sprawled in bed with Emma curled against her side. The hot water had been soothing, and soon they'd been far too drunk to do anything but crawl into bed.

She thought about the wad of cash in her purse with her broken pearls and tried to resist the urge to throw the whole bloody mess out the window.

"... are you okay, May?" Emma asked softly, carefully against her shoulder, and part of May wanted to tell her, wanted to rage and swear and cry. But that wouldn't change anything, wouldn't _help_ anything, and Emma didn't need to know. She couldn't bear to do anything that might make Emma even more sad than she already was.

"I'm alright," she lied, turning her face to press a kiss to Emma's hair. "It's just hard not to be angry about what you said. These fucking men, thinking they can do whatever the fuck they want. Not giving a fuck about how he's making you feel. Fuck them all."

She heard Emma sigh, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "... wish I could think like that."

"Then just do it." The words were out of May's mouth before she could stop herself, and she pulled back to look down at her. "Just forget about him. We'll get out of this place and start over somewhere nice. We can stop working these goddamn night jobs. We'll just go."

"Go?" Emma's eyebrows knit together as she stared up at her. "Where on earth would we go, May?"

For a moment May's longing for warmth and sunshine was so strong that she couldn't think of anything else. "Shell Beach," she said before she could think the better of it, and Emma gave an incredulous, dismissive laugh.

"Shell Beach? We might as well run away to Paris. Shell Beach isn't for girls like us, May. And anyway, where we would we get that kind of money?"

May looked away. "I have some, I can get more," she said, even knowing she couldn't take Williams' calls again. There'd be other men. There was always other men. "I'll figure it out, I can figure it out. I just need - I just have to get out of this place, Emma. This city, this job, never seeing the sun, I - I don't know how much longer I can do this!"

Emma gave a soft, tired sigh, holding her close as May blinked back helpless tears. "I used to watch you from the stage, you know," Emma said quietly. "You were so beautiful. And you seemed so confident. I used to think you had it made... to be so sure of yourself. I never thought that... god, I never wanted you to be as unhappy as me...."

"We don't have to be," May whispered, turning her face to kiss her hair, throat aching. "Just say you'll come away with me. Say we can start over. Please, Emma...."

Emma shifted to look up at her again, distinctly miserable as she lifted a hand to stroke her fingers through May's hair, smoothing back the jumble of loose curls from her face. "You've been so kind to me," she said softly, finally. "So wonderful. You've been so sweet, so lovely, May... and I... I really care for you...."

The "but" was unsaid, but far louder than her voice. May closed her eyes, turning her face away from Emma's touch, heart aching. "But you're still in love with your husband. It's fine. I understand."

"No, you don't." Emma's voice shook on the words. "You don't, not at all. It's not about loving him. How could I want to be with him when he's replaced me so easily?"

"Then why can't you leave him behind?" May felt her eyes burn. "Why can't you just be with me?"

"Because it's my fault!" Emma's voice cracked, dark lashes matted with tears. "Everything's my fault. I'm the one that cheated. I'm the one that couldn't stand the way he looked at me, I'm the one who left him. It's my fault, and I can't move past that! What if I do it again? What if I'm just a terrible person?"

May gave a soft moan of dismay, stroking her fingers over her cheek, her hair. "You're not. Sweetheart, I know you're not. You made a mistake, that's all. You're so sweet, so pure. I wish you could believe me...."

"I'm sorry," Emma murmured, lowering her eyes. "I know how unfair this is to you when you've been so good to me. And I know now that I could never go back to him, we could never go back to the way things were. But... I need him to forgive me for what I've done, or I'll never be able to forgive myself...."

May closed her eyes, the mix of helplessness and disappointment too much to bear. Silently she rolled over, so she wouldn't have to look at Emma, burrowing her face into her pillow and closing her eyes.

Emma's hand touched her back, tentatively. "May...."

"Just sleep," May muttered. "I need to sleep. We can talk about this later."

"... alright," Emma murmured, then curled up against her back, and May couldn't bring herself to push her away.

~~~

 

John woke up to the feel of silk against his cheek, and warmth behind that, enticing and inviting. He'd fallen asleep curled against Daniel's back, he realized, after they'd made love. After he'd smoothed that delightful silk night shirt back down over his hips and ass, not wanting to take it off of him despite the fact that he was fairly certain there was already come on it. Maybe he could just ruin it completely and then buy Daniel a new one.

He nuzzled a kiss to the slick fabric, then shifted to curl around him again, sighing as he wriggled his hips up against his ass, the silken texture sliding exquisitely soft over his half-hard cock.

Daniel gave a sleepy, pleased noise, shifting in his arms to press back into his embrace and tilting his head against the pillow. It was a silent offering that John took without urging, pressing his mouth to the delectable length to kiss and suck at the flesh.

"I love this nightshirt," John muttered, half muffled against his skin, hand stroking hungrily over the silk-covered expanse of his chest. "Feels so damn good to touch you...."

Daniel laughed breathlessly, then whimpered as John nibbled along the tendon at his neck. "Oh! Oh... feels so good to be touched, John," he breathed. He reached back to grasp John's hip, anchoring himself and pushing back against him, rolling his hips against his cock. That felt even better, and John reclaimed his hand long enough to adjust himself to press his quickly hardening cock against the crease of Daniel's ass. He pushed his other arm between Daniel and the mattress, wrapping it around his waist to hold him close as he thrust slowly between the tantalizing softness of his round, firm ass cheeks.

"Drive me crazy," John breathed, nipping at his earlobe and giving a harder thrust. "Feel like I can't ever keep my hands off you...."

"Please don't ever try," Daniel gasped, moaning as John ran his hands over the silk-covered length of his torso, gliding over the silken fabric and feeling it shift and move between his fingers and Daniel's body. Daniel's fingers dug into his hip, encouraging him to thrust against his ass. "Please don't stop...."

The thought of having sex again when they'd just awoken, when they'd fallen asleep right after it, was irresistibly decadent, even though it was hardly the first time they'd done so. Part of him, indulgently, thought might be able to could come just by grinding his cock into the crease of Daniel's ass, rutting against the rich silk. He smoothed his hand down further to find Daniel's cock, curling his fingers around it with the silk, stroking the softness over his lover's hard, engorged flesh.

"Oh god," Daniel gasped, and his hips gave a little helpless buck between John's fingers and the push of his cock. "Oh god, John, please....!"

John nosed aside the collar of his nightshirt and let himself suck on his shoulder with a groan. When he stroked his thumb over the head of Daniel's cock, he could feel the fabric dampen with his arousal, and for a moment all he wanted to do was feel that, tracing the shape and ridges of his cock, even more slick. It made Daniel's breath come heavier, made him whimper, shuddering as he ground his ass back into his cock.

"Please," he gasped again, tugging at the side of the nightshirt, the silk dragging over the underside of John's cock as he pulled it from between them. "I'm still ready, John, please... god, please don't make me wait for you...."

God, how could he resist something like that? John cursed breathlessly against his shoulder, letting go of Daniel's cock just long enough to do as his lover asked, dragging the head of his cock down the crease of his ass until he found the angle to start to rock inside him.

"God, Daniel...." His lover was still slick from the night before, something that felt delightfully dirty as John pushed inside him, groaning as his lover's body yielded, taking the press of his cock. Slick, but still delightfully tight, and he could feel Daniel shiver and clench around him as he slowly rocked deeper, the heat of his body caressing his cock. "So good," he whispered, groaning as he finally buried himself to the hilt, grinding against his ass.

The little fucked out moan he pushed from Daniel's lips was beautiful, so he repeated the motion, kissing and sucking at this neck and the corner of his jaw. "So good being inside you," he breathed, tightening the arm wrapped around his waist, fingers tangling in the silk of his nightshirt. "Like nothing else... god, Daniel...."

Daniel's fingers clenched on his hip, voice a trembling cry as John gave a slightly harder thrust. "Oh yes," he gasped, rocking with him. "Just like that. God... always feel so empty when you're not inside me...."

"Jesus, the things you say..." John drew a sharp hiss through his teeth at the surge of want Daniel's words sent through him, his hips stuttering up harder into him, pushing a breathless cry from his lover's lips.

"Yes," Daniel gasped again, rocking back into the push of his cock. "God, John... can't help it, can't get enough of you... feel so good inside me, filling me so full - oh!"

He cried out at John's harder thrust, and John echoed it, picking up the pace, intoxicated by the heat of his body around his cock, by the sweet, breathless cries he drove from his lover's lips as his hips smacked up against the pert roundness of his ass. "Feels like you do it to drive me out of my mind," he panted. "Drive me so goddamn crazy - !"

"God!" Daniel arched his head back, trembling, crying out as John took the invitation to suck and bite at the crook of his neck. "I do, I do - can't help it - just need you to fuck me so bad... fuck me hard, John, use me, please - !"

John gave a helpless groan against his skin. "Feels like I can't get deep enough inside you," he groaned, bucking harder against his ass. His fingers found Danie's cock again, wrapping it in the silk of his nightshirt again, letting the hard thrust of his hips push him into his grasp as Daniel sobbed and writhed against him.

"Wanna feel you come on my cock," he gasped, hips stuttering roughly up into him at Daniel's sob. He tightened his fingers around his cock, working the silk up and down his shaft. "Come on, sweetheart... come for me...."

Daniel's helpless cry of pleasure was the only warning he received before his lover was doing just as he'd asked, clenching down around his cock almost impossibly tight, shuddering helplessly in his arms as he sobbed out his orgasm. Feeling him come was the best part of fucking him, John had realized the first time they were together, the perfect stimulation. He ground his hips up into him roughly with a triumphant cry and let his lover's orgasm push him over the edge, pleasure cascading through him as he spilled inside him. It was perfect, the only thing in existence, and he forced himself to keep moving, grinding into him with each shock of pleasure, letting the tight heat of his lover's ass milk every last drop of his seed from him.

For a long moment all John could do was breathe, contentment and pleasure in the aftermath of orgasm sparking bright in his mind. He shifted against Daniel's back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as his pulse began to slow, letting himself think of nothing but the pleasure he felt with the other man.

"I'm afraid I've definitely ruined your nightshirt this time," he murmured, and Daniel gave a soft, pleased laugh. One of his hands found John's, twining his fingers with his and giving a squeeze.

"A worthy sacrifice to such exquisite pleasure," he murmured, and John couldn't help but enjoy how satisfyingly rough his voice was. He fought to hold back a disgruntled sigh as Daniel eased away from him, sitting up and pulling the soiled garment up over his head. "In any case, I can wash it. It's certainly not ruined for what you want to do with it."

John chuckled, pulling him back down into his arms and claiming a slow, indulgent kiss from those sweet lips. "I like you naked, too," he murmured, stroking his sides, and Daniel gave a pleased him.

"I like being naked for you," he agreed, smiling against his mouth as he kissed him again.

It was nice, just to cuddle with him for a time, warm and lazy. John knew he'd need to get up soon enough - he had a session with Frank and Leon - but for the moment he allowed himself to indulge. To enjoy the reason for all the effort.

He drew his fingers over Daniel's hair and the side of his face. Without his glasses, his eyes seemed impossibly blue, the darker flecks of gray-brown around his pupils making them seem even more striking. He stroked a fingertip gently along the strange, pulling scar at the side of his eyelid, and when his lover glanced down, leaned in to press a soft kiss to it. "I won't let anyone hurt you," he murmured. "Not ever again. I promise."

"My dear champion," Daniel murmured in response, turning his face up for a kiss. "... thank you."

John let his forehead rest against his, enjoying their closeness. "Why was I fighting? Before, when I still had my memories. Before Walenksi."

Daniel was silent for a long moment. "Someone threatened your wife," he said finally. "You were already apart, but... you couldn't stand the thought of anyone hurting her. And then, after you won me...."

John nuzzled another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his lips, feeling a surge of affection. It wasn't hard to imagine how easy it must have been to fall for Daniel. "We became involved, you said."

"We did. You were so respectful, John. So kind... so handsome that I hardly knew what to do with myself. I couldn't help but want you. You... you said you were fighting to protect me."

"Just like now," John murmured, and held him tighter, heart aching with love.

~~~


	8. Raison

It felt impossible to stay home alone while Emma went to the club, so May went with her, dressing down in a light blue cotton dress and a plain wool overcoat, only a touch of rouge on her cheeks to keep her from looking completely haggard. When Emma took the stage she tucked herself into the corner by the door to the back with a double whiskey on the rocks and tried to disappear.

The thought of _working_ made her skin crawl. She'd gotten complacent with Williams, she knew that now. Let the lure of his money eclipse her better judgement. And if she'd let her guard down with him, who knew how many of her regulars she'd misjudged? Suddenly she found herself second guessing everything she remembered, holding it under the microscope of misogyny. She'd thought herself so strong, being able to pick and choose the rich men as she liked, to reel them in and part them with their money in exchange for a mere interaction that she most of the time quite enjoyed....

She had to get out of the city. Why couldn't Emma see that, why couldn't she understand? The thought of leaving her behind, of ending their time together made her want to weep, made her feel emptier than ever before.

But what choice did she have?

The shadow of a man in a dark coat fell over her, and panic spiked through her veins as she looked up, irrationally half-expecting to see Williams there, angry that she'd made her escape the night before with his money before he'd had a chance to fuck her. But the man was a stranger, the smile on his face somehow awkward but not threatening as he took off his hat politely. "Pardon me. Are you May Jensen?"

May's pulse sped up again. "Who wants to know?"

"A friend of mine, a Mr. John Murdoch. He heard that you might be taking care of his wife, yes?"

Emma's husband kept strange friends, May thought, regarding the bald albino and wondering at the strange stiffness to his posture. "I might be," she said carefully. "I'm not sure that's any of his business."

"Indeed. Nonetheless, if you would be so kind as to pass on a note. I would be most greatful. Emma has been avoiding me, you see. But I promised Mr. Murdoch that I would see it delivered." He set a white envelope down on the table with a smile. "If you think the contents would not please her, then you may do with it what you wish and none will be the wiser, yes? Good day, Miss Jensen." Then he left, the envelope still sitting on the table untouched, bright against the dark laminate.

May stared at it, taking a large swallow of her whiskey and wishing that she felt more drunk. She didn't want to touch it, didn't want anything to do with the man who was the cause of so much despair for her sweet lover. 

She looked up at Emma on stage as she finished her drink, as the band started into the next song. She watched her lover's eyes flutter closed as she began to croon, dark eyelashes fluttering against her cheek.

_"I'm getting desperate, desperate for a revolution.... Some kind of spark, some kind of connection..."_

She wouldn't be able to look Emma in the eye if she left the envelope behind, she realized, and sighed, picking up the envelope and heading for the bar at the back of the club.

_"I need to understand why we kill the things we love the most, kill the things we love...."_

"Another double," she said to the bartender, setting a bill down on the bar. Then she unfolded the unsealed envelope flap, pulling out the folded piece of paper inside. There was something heavy inside, and when she reached down into the corner she found a ring. Was he sending his wedding ring back? She pulled it out and examined it. Far too small to be a men's ring, she realized, heart sinking. Perhaps it was Emma's, then. She hadn't ever seen her lover wearing one. Though it didn't particularly look like a wedding ring either; the silver band was unadorned apart from a strange, spiraling signet carved deep into the face on the widest end.

Frowning, she hooked it around her pinkie and unfolded the letter to read.

_Dear Wife,_

_Forgive me that it has taken me so long to write. I was so angry with you for having sex with another man that for a time I couldn't even think about you without feeling so enraged that I wanted to kill everyone around me. Even now, I can't help but hate you, and I think part of me always will._

_You've fucking ruined me, Emma. Sometimes I can't help but believe that you fucked that man on purpose because you knew it would ruin me. Because you were angry at me for fucking all those other women. But you forgave me each of those times, so I will try to extend you the same courtesy. I've returned your ring to you, that promise you made to stay pure and chaste, that your body would only be for my pleasure. I know you've probably been fucking other men while we've been apart, taking advantage of my absence to be as much of a whore as you've always wanted to be. But you're mine, so I'm willing to try and forgive you for it, no matter how many other men have been between your thighs._

_It's time for you to come home now. Come back to me and earn your forgiveness._

_\- John_

May didn't realize she'd been clenching her jaw until she reached the end of the letter, until it started to ache. She crumpled up the paper before she could think about it, clenching the ball tightly in trembling fingers.

She looked up at Emma on stage, jaw still clenched, certain she would scream if she allowed her mouth to open. How could he think such things about her, how dare he - 

Emma's voice curled through the crowd, heartbreakingly beautiful and thick emotion. _"Can you love me for what I've become? Love me for what I... said that I would not become..."_

This is what she wants, May realized, and felt her blood run cold.

The bartender set her drink down on the counter. "You okay, doll?" 

"Don't call me that!" she snapped, grabbing the glass and knocking it back, nearly choking as the liquid burned down her throat. Then she spun for the doors, the terrible letter from Emma's husband still clenched in her fist and Emma's voice echoing after her.

_And even though our love is doomed... and even though we're all messed up. You're the only thing worth fighting for, you're the only thing worth dying for...."_

Emma didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve it, and when May spotted the phone booth outside the club her course of action became clear. It only took a moment to find the address of the only J. Murdoch in the phone book, and only a little bit longer to reach the apartment building at 2385 Central. The night was cold but the brisk walk heated her, and by the time she strode up the steps of the building she felt like her blood was boiling.

There was some kind of renovation going on in the building lobby, and she grabbed up a loose piece of scaffolding without thinking, the steel bar heavy and powerful in her hand.

Reaching the fifth floor, she hammered hard on the front door of apartment five, the pain against her knuckles only fueling her rage. "John Murdoch! I know you're in there, Murdoch! Open the door!"

"What do you - what the hell, lady!" Murdoch opened the door, then jumped back immediately as she took a swing at him. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm her girlfriend!" May spat, following him into the apartment and taking another swing.

"What?" Murdoch managed to catch the end of the piece of scaffolding on her next swing, holding tight to it and using it to hold her back. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"This bullshit letter you told your friend to deliver!" May threw the balled up paper at him, not realizing she was still wearing the ring he'd sent until she heard it fly off her pinkie and clang against the floor. "You assholes are all the same, thinking you own us, thinking you can do whatever you want with us! Well, I won't let you! I won't let you hurt her, I won't let you fucking touch her!" Seething, she let go of the bar and rushed at him, grappling as he tried to catch her hands to protect himself. She jammed her knee upwards and caught him in the thigh, then did it again, trying to aim for his groin. Suddenly she heard a voice behind her.

"Stop!"

There was a strange, resonant familiarity to it, something in May's memories that made her still without thinking, made her step away from Murdoch. Confused, she turned to find a blond man standing behind her, barely taller than she was, one eyelid twisted and scarred behind his glasses. He limped past her to pick up the silver ring from the floor, bringing it back to her.

"Your challenge to the Champion is recognized," he said, taking her hand, a strange vibrance to his words that May could feel thrum in her chest. He pushed the ring onto her ring finger, snug and secure. "Challenger who seeks the power of revolution, arrive at the arena at the center before the last stroke of midnight. Thirty minutes from now. Then you will have your chance. The ring will give you entrance."

"Alright," she said, feeling strangely dazed, and turned to leave the apartment.

It struck her, when she was outside on the street again, how weird, how inconsistent the whole thing was. That she'd somehow agreed to... to what? Some kind of duel, like they were back in the old west? And why had it seemed so reasonable to her when the blond man had spoken to her?

She looked down at the ring on her finger, turning it with her thumb and tracing the strange spiral design dug into it.

Oh well. It would be midnight soon enough. Then she could take care of that bastard once and for all.

~~~

 

"Jesus." John let the metal bar fall from his fingers to clank onto the floor, realizing with belated regret that it had probably dented the linoleum. "Who the hell was that? Her... girlfriend? You think she was talking about my wife?"

"I suppose that could be the case," Daniel remarked, crossing the room to close the front door and latch it again.

"She was so angry..." John located the crumpled piece of paper she'd thrown at him, halfway into the bathroom, and picked it up, smoothing it out.

The words on the page made him feel hot, then cold, and he stared up at Daniel, uncomprehending. "I don't understand. I didn't - I couldn't have written this. It's not even my writing." He stared down at the words again, suddenly doubting himself. How old was the letter? What had happened between him and Emma before he'd lost his memories? "I don't think it's my writing. I didn't write this, did I? Who could write something like this? Tell me I didn't write this. Please, Daniel...."

Daniel laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, taking the wrinkled paper from his fingers and scanning it. He swallowed visibly, then looked up at him. "John... I think it would be best for you to forget about this."

"Why? Because it's mine?" John shook his head, feeling like he could barely breathe for the horror of it. "I've forgotten everything. Did I forget this, too?" He clutched Daniel's biceps desperately. "Tell me I wasn't this cruel. Tell me I couldn't be capable of this, please - "

Daniel made a soft, soothing noise, shoving the paper into a pocket in his jacket and reaching up to cup John's face with his hands. "How could you be, when you've been so good to me?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

John held him tighter. "Was I? And was I good to her? She left me, Daniel. She left me, and I haven't even tried to find her. What if I really was terrible to her? What if that's why I can't remember anything?"

"John, please - stop. Stop." Daniel stroked his fingers through his hair, kissing him again, and somehow his words made some of the frantic fear leave John's heart.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, realizing suddenly that he was no closer to any answers than he had been when that first night that he'd challenged Walenski. "I just... sometimes I feel like don't know who I am."

Daniel drew back, eyes wide as he looked up at him, voice soft. "... you're my champion. Aren't you?"

How could such simple, heartfelt words make John melt? "I'm your champion," he repeated softly, drawing him close. "I'm sorry. That's what matters."

.... That's what matters, he thought to himself later in the arena, as he took the sword from Daniel and turned towards the blonde woman who faced him.

The woman drew the sword at her belt, bright and shining. "You're going to be held accountable for how you've treated her," she snarled, eyes flashing with hurt and determination equally. "I'm going to cut that rose from your chest even if I have to run you through to do it!"

_"Let the duel commence."_

The power of the blonde woman's helpless rage was overwhelming as she rushed at him, and John fought to bank it down, to push away his nervousness and fear. He could hold his own in this, he could win. He'd practiced this over and over with Frank and Leon at the salle, all he had to do was summon those same techniques. As he parried her blows he realized he was starting to respond automatically, instinctively. For the first time he felt truly confident, capable. Undoubtedly, he could win.

Seeing an opening, he lunged towards the rose, and the woman darted back, just managing to avoid his blade. But then she stumbled, falling back over - when had there been a rock in the middle of the arena? - falling hard onto her back and losing her grip on the sword, which clattered away across the stone.

"Don't!" she cried, bringing her arms up to shield her chest. "Please!" But unarmed it was simple to catch hold of her wrists and push them away, catching her rose with the tip of his sword and scattering the petals out across the arena floor.

The clock chimed. It was over. John gave a sigh of relief.

In front of him, the woman gave a broken moan and dissolved into tears, covering her face with her hands, not attempting to get up.

"I'm sorry," John said to her softly. "But please believe me... I hold no ill will towards Emma. Whatever you think - wherever you got that letter...."

The woman drew lowered her hands, face wet with tears, to looked up at him incredulously. "Don't you know?" she whispered, then looked past him. "It was - "

"Sleep," said the familiar voice behind him, and the world around him went black.

~~~

"Your manipulations have grown too heavy handed," Daniel said with a frown, watching one of Mr. Hand's posse lift John's unconscious form effortlessly, slinging him over one shoulder and starting towards the elevator. Another one lifted May with even less care, her gold-trimmed jacket and shorts transforming back to the plain blue dress she'd been wearing when she'd arrived at the apartment. "She attacked John outside of the arena. She genuinely wanted to hurt him."

"It is always a possibility." Mr. Hand seemed completely unconcerned, handing him his bag. "And that is one of the many reasons why you stay with the champion. Why we have made you The Bride. You successfully subdued her, yes? The conditioning trigger in the imprint was effective."

"Still. If you'd told me that you planned to give the letter to Jensen I would have crafted it for her."

"It matters not, doctor." Mr. Hand replied. "They were both reaching for revolution, the letter would have served either. This one simply got there first."

"But it wasn't intended for John to see it." Daniel pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket. "If he'd recognized my hand - if it had given him cause to suspect - "

Mr. Hand made an idle motion with his fingers, and the incriminating note disappeared into nothing. "If Murdoch becomes suspicious, we will merely start again, yes? Though we would be very displeased with that. We have come so far with him. An interesting development tonight, creating that stone to make her trip. We think he did not even realize what he was doing. We must push forward." Mr. Hand looked back at him over his shoulder. "So you would do well not to give him any reason to suspect, yes?"

Daniel swallowed hard, lowering his head. "Of course, Mr. Hand."

"Good. Now come, doctor. There are many subjects we must adjust. We will start immediately."

"Immediately?" Daniel stopped at the entrance to the elevator, confused. "But I haven't created the imprint to reset Jensen. I'll need to go to my lab - "

"No need," Mr Hand replied, and though Daniel was quite sure it was his imagination, did his Master actually... smirk? "We have other plans for her, yes."


	9. Désenchantement

Placing the last empty syringe back into his bag, Daniel snapped it shut, glad to be finished. Time to go home, time to go back to John....

Mr. Hand breezed by him before he could leave the house, motioning him after him. "Come, Doctor. We have one more requirement tonight of you, yes."

Daniel felt a spike of panic, but fought to push it down as he limped after him. The unknown often meant something _terrible_ with them, but failing to follow only made it worse. "Of course, Mr. Hand. Only... if I do not return to the Champion...."

"Murdoch sleeps, as the city sleeps. He will sleep longer, we think. He will not notice your absence until we have finished with you." He opened a door in a wall, one of the many elevator shafts down underneath the city, turning to wait Daniel as the others filed in.

For a moment, Daniel's terror was so great that his knees locked. "May I - may I ask what you... require of me?" he managed to rasp out.

"Should it matter, Doctor?" Mr. Hand motioned him inside. "We allow you to exist like this only to serve us. So you will come serve us, yes."

Daniel forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, fighting against the surge of adrenaline, the always present need to run and hide that would only make things worse. "Of course, Masters," he whispered, closing his eyes as the wall in front of the lift sealed itself up again and the lift began to move.

"You appear quite frail tonight, Doctor," Mr. Hand remarked as the lift moved. "Perhaps this Champion is running you ragged. Perhaps we should arrange for you to spend more time with us, yes."

Isn't that precisely what they were doing? "I have Murdoch under control," Daniel said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. "I appreciate your concern."

Then the lift stopped at the entrance to his workshop, and realizing his error in judgement, relief flowed through him. Daniel just barely managed to hold back a sob from it.

"You will recreate the Murdochs' imprints," Mr. Hand told him. "Exactly and with precise detail. We wish to study them, yes. You may use whatever you need, take as long as you need."

"Of course, Mr. Hand," Daniel replied, hearing his voice come more easily, stress melting away. He moved towards his machines, mind already moving ahead, turning back to the last time that he'd tried to reset John, the new scenario the Masters had demanded, the alterations that had been done to Emma because of it.

Then, as he began to work, another idea began to form. A completely impetuous idea, with completely unpredictable results. But what was happening in the arena was like nothing any of them had ever seen before, John's progression impossible to predict.

So perhaps, given the freedom of his lab, he could create for himself an insurance policy.

~~~

 

"She was wearing a ring when we found her. I thought you might like it back."

It sounded as if though the Inspector was speaking to Emma through a long tunnel. Or perhaps that was the world around her, dark and incomprehensible, her vision focused on the photo on his desk.

On May's body, lying twisted and lifeless, on the cold cement sidewalk in front of a building that she knew far, far too well....

"Mrs. Murdoch?"

Emma's head jerked up to look at him. "She's dead," she repeated, and the words felt like cotton in her mouth. How could May be dead? And yet something had made Emma worry, when she'd discovered that May had left the club without her. Worried more when she'd arrived home without her. And then the police had arrived....

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Murdoch." The inspector passed a small, plastic bag across the desk to her, which Emma took without looking at it, shoving it blindly into the pocket of her jacket. She couldn't look at anything but the photo, and when the Inspector went to put it back into the file she felt a spike of panic, grabbed for his hand.

"Wait," she begged. "Please, wait. I...."

"Remember her as she was," he said softly, extracting his hand from her grasp and tucking the photo away. 

As she was. May, cheeks dimpling as she smiled. Her hands gentle on Emma's hair, the softness of her mouth.... Emma closed her eyes. Even the dim light of the Inspector's office suddenly seemed like too much.

"I'll have an officer take you home," the Inspector said quietly, standing. "We haven't been able to locate any next of kin, but there'll be no hurry to settle the estate. If there are any developments in the case, we'll let you know."

It took a moment to process what he was saying. She looked up at him, unable to read anything past the look of sympathy on his features. "I... I don't understand. Developments?"

"We can't rule out foul play until there's been a full investigation," he said gently. "We received a report that she'd had an altercation at Hotel West last night, involving four men and a large amount of money. Did you know anything about that?"

Too late, Emma thought of the rip in May's dress, her missing pearls. How brittle she'd seemed when she'd come home. How desperate. "She wanted to leave," she said, and somehow the words hurt to say, like knives in her throat. "She wanted to leave, she wanted me to go with her, and I...." _I couldn't. I wouldn't. I failed you. I failed you...._

"There was no letter on the body," the inspector continued, careful and soft. "If you find anything, Mrs. Murdoch, or if there's anything else you can think of, I'd appreciate it very much if you could be in contact. Here is my card."

Emma nodded, barely able to feel it as her fingers closed around it to shove it in her pocket alongside the bag with May's ring in it. She swallowed hard, finally standing, leaning in to the Inspector's light touch on her shoulder as he lead her to the door.

She was leaving, she realized. Going... going where. Home to John? The thought made her stomach churn. But how could she go back to May's apartment without May? How could she spend any time in a place infused with so much May when that was all that was left of her?

She thought of May on a table somewhere, cold and still, and felt her stomach twist again. "Please... may I see her?" she asked, hearing her voice tremble, and the Inspector gave a soft, sympathetic hum.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Murdoch. I don't think that would be wise right now. When the coroner report is ready, perhaps. Come sit down in the lobby. I'll get you a glass of water, and we'll take you wherever you need to go." His fingers curled around her elbow, strong and secure, and even though the last thing she wanted to do was leave May here alone, she let him lead her out past the front desk and sit her down in a lobby chair, returning after a moment with a glass of water, which he pressed into her hands.

"If you find anything, please call us," he said quietly, then turned to go.

Emma nodded, closing her eyes. Unbidden, she thought of May falling from the roof of her building, tumbling through the air towards the unforgiving ground. Would she have been afraid, as she fell? Would it have hurt more than whatever pain had driven her to jump? Helplessness bloomed in Emma's heart, sharp and terrible, and she stood.. "Inspector!" 

"Yes?" He turned, moving back to her, and for a moment Emma couldn't speak. The inspector laid a hand on her shoulder again, gentle and warm. "Mrs. Murdoch?"

"Was she in pain?" The thought of it felt nearly unbearable. Emma drew a shivering breath, eyes burning, and tried to hold back a sob. "When she died. Do you know? Did she...."

"I don't believe so," he said gently, helping her to sit back down. "It appears as though it was very quick. That she did not suffer. But please, try not to think of these things. Just take things one day at a time. You have my greatest sympathies for your loss."

Her loss, Emma thought as she sat quietly in the front seat of the police car, watching the buildings go by. Her loss, even though she'd only really known May for weeks. Even though the time had been so short. Did she deserve to feel such pain, when she'd known so little of the woman?

And yet they'd found no next of kin, the Inspector had said. It was hard to believe. Hard to understand how anyone could meet - could have met - May and not adored her for her sweet smiles, her kind and gentle nature.

Being back in the apartment was worse. Emma stepped out of her shoes, dropped her coat over the back of the sofa, not caring when it slithered off the furniture to land on the floor.

May's apartment. Where they'd spent so much time together, been so close....

For a long moment she stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring at May's vanity without really seeing it. It felt like her mind was a machine with the gears slipped off track, catching and grating against each other, the metal skittering, spinning ineffectively. She should drink, except they'd finished the whiskey the night before. When May had been so strange and upset. An altercation at Hotel West, the Inspector had said, and a wave of guilt washed over her. She'd known something had been wrong with May, but she'd been so caught up in what she'd discovered about John....

She stepped into the closet, taking down the tin on the top shelf that she'd seen May go into before, hearing the sound of loose beads rattling around inside. When she carefully pried the top off her heart sank.

Money. Rolls of bills, amongst the loose pearls that must have broken that night. And a wad of loose cash, messy and disorganized, thrown in without any regard to order.

May had wanted to get out. May'd had the _means_ to get out. And Emma had refused her, insisted that she had to stay, insisted....

She set the tin aside blindly on the desk as she staggered back into the room. She tried to draw breath and felt her chest shudder, a soft, broken cry escaping her lips that she couldn't keep back, couldn't stop. How could she stop it when it was the only way to keep her aching heart from shattering into a thousand pieces? She brought her hands to her face as if hiding could push away this terrible reality, as if wiping away the tears with ineffective fingers could stop more from coming.

May was gone, and nothing could bring her back. Her laughing, beautiful lover was gone. She'd suffered such pain, such sadness, and Emma had been oblivious to anything but her own pain.

May was dead, and it was her fault.

~~~

 

"I don't like lying for them, sir," Leon murmured, glancing back towards where Mrs. Emma Murdoch sat in the lobby as he followed Frank into his office and closed the door. He didn't realize how tense he'd been until he felt Frank's arm wrap around his waist, urging him against him and pressing a kiss to his hair. Leon closed his eyes with a sigh, letting himself relax into the warmth of his lover's form. 

"I know," Frank murmured, stroking his side. "I'm sorry to ask you to. It's the price of keeping our memories in this place."

Leon shivered, curling closer, feeling Frank's gentle squeeze and wishing he could let it calm the shudder of guilt and discontent that crawled up his spine. If he'd felt uneasy about the Masters' manipulations before he'd battled John, it was far, far worse now. How could he feel anything but, after watching that woman begin to fall apart from the news of her lover's death? How could he possibly stand such a thing himself? If he lost Frank.... "Would it really be so terrible to tell her the truth?"

He was surprised when Frank stepped into him more, wrapping both arms around him and hugging him tight to his chest. He felt his lover tremble. "Yes. You can't. Promise me, Leon. Please..."

The anguish in Frank's expression when Leon lifted his head to look up at him made his heart twist. "I promise," he whispered, pressing a kiss to his mouth and trying to push away his guilt.

~~~

 

Daniel skirted the taped-off crime scene in front of John's building as he finally made his way back, shivering at the thought of it, despite knowing the truth of the matter. There wouldn't have been a body, that would have been impossible. But the Masters didn't need his help to create the memory of one, the small but brutal additions of blood and twisted limbs to the memories of a half dozen people that were all that was needed to create something so sorrowful, so terrible.

They'd done it before, or so they told him. He couldn't remember. He wasn't reset as often as the duelists, of course, that would be far too detrimental when such an essential part of his purpose was _knowing_ them. But still they reset him, often enough that the answers of Revolution and Eternity were lost to him.

It frightened him, like most things about the Masters did. How the might further pursue their desire to understand Human Individuality beyond the context of their duels. It frightened him, as did the strange and unignorable feeling he had... that despite having relocated and reprogrammed May himself into a new life tonight, it might not be the normal course of action. Things were missing, in his memories. _People were missing_.

 _I wish I could take you away from this,_ he thought as he unlocked John's apartment door and slipped quietly inside.

John was still asleep, as the Masters had predicted, though at some point he'd clearly woken up long enough to strip down to his undershirt and boxers. Daniel smiled, quietly undressing and hanging his clothes, pulling on the light cotton pajamas he still wore to bed, for propriety's sake, until John inevitably took them off him.

John stirred as he lifted the blankets to slide into bed, making a sleepy, interested noise. One hand found Daniel's waist, pulling him closer. Daniel let himself cuddle close, relaxing into John's soft, sleepy kisses, giving in to the thrill of desire he always felt at the sensation of John's body against his.

"Glad you're home," John murmured, the hand on his waist stroking over his stomach, and Daniel arched closer.

"Glad to be," he breathed, and let himself indulge in the warmth of John's mouth, sucking at his bottom lip, shivering as one of John's hands slipped up underneath his nightshirt to stroke the bare skin underneath.

"Will you welcome me home, John?" he asked, and was rewarded with a low, appreciative moan. And John was attentive, and passionate, and adoring as he always was, and as they made love Daniel let himself forget, for those few, blessed moments, about everything else but him.

~~~

 

At some point Emma must have slept. Slept the day away, and part way into the night. For a long moment on waking she laid still, staring at the empty half of the bed and wishing she could sleep longer. Her body felt fuzzy, drained from crying. Headachy. Somewhere between numb from fatigue and weighed down so heavily that even breathing seemed to take a herculean effort. Eventually she crawled out of bed and into the bathroom, splashing her face and staring numbly down at the running water until it ran so hot that the cloud of steam was unbearable.

She didn't go to work. Going anywhere seemed unbearable - impossible to put on a nice face around others, impossible to act like her life hadn't ended with May on the pavement. But staying any longer in an apartment empty of May suddenly seemed even more unbearable, so eventually she put on clothes and her heavy wool coat, and headed off into the night.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she encountered plastic in one and frowned, pulling it out. Of course. The strange ring the Inspector had given her was still in her pocket, had been forgotten when she'd come home. She stopped on the street corner to open the bag and examine it.

Silver, polished bright but unadorned apart from the strange, deep spiral pattern etched into the widest side. It made her think of old letters sealed with wax and stamped. She was certain she would have remembered May wearing it. Had the inspector made a mistake? Frowning, she slipped it onto her own finger and continued walking, realizing belatedly that she'd placed it onto the ring finger of her left hand.

The street was mainly quiet, headlights from the occasional car sweeping over her as it passed. She passed the automat with no particular destination in mind, but as she was walking by a newsstand something caught her eye and she stopped.

 _"Welcome to Shell Beach"_ read the postcard, the words arching along one corner to meet a colourful beach ball held aloft out of the waves by a blond woman in a white and red polkadot bikini. She looked like May, Emma thought, and fought down a rush of sorrow. Of shame. She should have listened to May. They should have left the minute May had asked, they should have...

"You gonna buy that, lady?"

Emma sniffed and nodded, pulling her coin purse out of a pocket and handing a nickle across to the man behind the newsstand. Then she carefully tucked the postcard into the inside breast pocket of her coat and started off again.

Suddenly a thought struck her, and she hurried back to the newsstand. "Excuse me. Could you - could you please tell me the best way to get to Shell Beach from here?"

The newspaper man snorted. "At this time of night? Lady, everything's closed down. Busses, trains, toll booths, you name it. Only people crazy enough to be awake are the drunks and the prostitutes. And you."

Of course. Of course, it had been a stupid idea to begin with. Emma nodded, sniffing hard and blinking back tears that burned at her eyes as she turned to walk away.

"Hey, Lady!" When Emma glanced back, the man was leaning out, handing her a plastic package of Kleenex tissues. "On the house."

"Thank you," Emma managed to whisper, taking the package from him and managing to get one out before her tears spilled over again.

Shell Beach was a stupid idea, but at least for one glorious moment she'd felt like she had a purpose. A reason to put one foot in front of the other, a destination for her aimless wandering. She walked until the street opened up to the bank of the river, and then she sank down onto a bench, looking out onto the dark water, which glittered with pinpricks of light reflected from the city.

She'd met John here, she realized with a sudden shock, and stared down at the damp tissue in her hands. Had her feet brought her here to punish her with yet another reminder of someone she'd lost due to her own stupid, selfish failings?

"We're very lucky, when you think about it," said a voice behind her, low and calm. She could just see the man out of the corner of her eye, moving to stand well away from her, close enough for his voice to carry without seeming particularly threatening. "To be able to revisit these places which meant so very much to us...."

 

The thought made Emma choke back a laugh that was both bitter and incredulous. "Or we're haunted by them."

"Perhaps," the man replied amiably, still gazing off towards the river. For a long moment he said nothing, and though something about him struck Emma as peculiar, he wasn't behaving particularly threatening. 

"There used to be a ferry on the river when I was a boy." he mused again finally. "Biggest thing you ever saw. Lit up like a floating birthday cake."

His words suddenly triggered another memory of John, something she hadn't thought about in ages. Emma swallowed hard. "That's just what my husband once said to me. We... met here."

"Small world. I met my wife at this place," the man remarked, still not moving any closer to her. "But she died, yes. A few months ago."

"I'm sorry," Emma murmured, and then, before she could stop herself, everything came spilling out. "How do you cope, how do you stand it? My - my friend, she died yesterday, they say she killed herself. It's all I can think about, I can't come to terms with it. Everything I ever said or do I question - should I have done more, should I have listened, could have changed it somehow, I... what do I do with myself, with my life?"

The man turned towards her, the brim of his hat throwing his face into high contrast, pale against the dark shadows of the night. "Sometimes," he started slowly, "the loss of an individual seems to us to be as painful as losing a part of ourselves. But those who are gone would want us to keep moving forward, yes? To... grow. To become more than what we are."

Exactly what she should have done when May had asked her to leave. Emma closed her eyes, feeling tears wind their way down her face. How could she move forward without May? Where would she go, what would she do? "I just don't know where forward is. I don't know if there's any forward left for me."

"Then perhaps we are best served by looking behind us." The man reached up to tip the brim of his hat to her. "We must be going now. We hope you find the answers that you seek."

"Thank you," Emma murmured, only briefly noting the man's strange use of plural pronouns before her mind returned to thoughts of the past. To the things that had held her back from being with May.

John.

What would she say to him, if she saw him now? What could she say? Nothing would bring May back. And yet she found herself walking again, hands stuffed in her pockets, rubbing her thumb against the band of May's strange ring to turn it around her finger.

When she reached her old apartment building, the only sign that something had happened there was a tattered piece of crime scene tape tied around the pole of a street sign. The only proof that May had once been there. That she'd died. Emma drew her fingers along the length of the tattered piece and briefly considered tearing it off. But it was strangely comforting, this small, visual symbol of her pain.

Then a gust of wind came up, and, almost as if it had been waiting for her, a crumpled piece of paper skittered along the pavement to stick against her shoe. She picked it up without thinking, ready to crumple it and leave it in the nearest trash bin. Then her eyes caught sight of her name scrawled on the paper, and her heart stopped.

Trembling, she smoothed out the paper, crossing the pavement to sit down weakly on the steps to her apartment building.

_My dearest Emma,_

_Please forgive me. All I've ever wanted was to see you happy. To make you happy. I tried to talk to John tonight. I was so angry at him for hurting you. I couldn't understand how anyone could bear to, how anyone could love you any less than I do. But I understand, now. The one holding you back from happiness, my sweet Emma, is me. And that is something I can never forgive myself for._   
_I love you, Emma. Always and always._   
_~ May_

That's why she'd been here, then. Why she'd killed herself here. She'd been here for Emma.

The words blurred in front of Emma's eyes even before she'd finished reading. She crumpled the paper between her fingers, then buried her face in her arms and wept - broken, again, broken from May's loss and this terrible confirmation that it had been, in the end, her choice. Helpless, that she'd ignored the signs, that she'd been so callous and oblivious to May's need, her pain. Frustrated - even angry - that there was no way to fix it, no way she could ever make it up to her. She could never, ever earn forgiveness for this terrible failing, and that hurt far worse than her guilt over John ever had.

"Perhaps a clean handkerchief, yes?"

Choking back a sob, Emma looked up, recognizing the voice. The man from the river, who somehow stood in front of her, a neat white square of cotton extended to her in one black gloved hand. She nodded and took it, dabbing at her eyes ineffectively, wiping at her running nose. "... how did you find me?"

"We recently moved into this building," the man replied. "We heard the argument, yes. The man who lives in apartment five and the poor woman who jumped. We regret that we did nothing. It is terrible to hear that this was your friend. You must feel... helpless."

"Helpless," Emma whispered, and nodded. "The man in apartment five is my husband. I... I just wish someone could tell me what to do."

"There is perhaps one action you could take," the man said slowly. "Something to avenge her. Perhaps you loved her enough to do this, yes. Would you like us to help you?"

For a long moment Emma stared up at him, at the calm, pale face that looked down on her. Nothing she could ever say or do would bring May back. And yet somehow something in his words called to her, resonated deep within her. A purpose, however bleak, for her to focus on through her pain.

The man extended his hand again. Emma took it.

~~~


	10. Limite

For a long moment on waking, John lay still, letting his eyes fall closed again, enjoying the warm, comfortable pleasure of being curled around Daniel's bare form. The temptation to never leave bed was strong, as it always was when he was naked with Daniel, but the need to use the bathroom eventually won out. Yawning, he extracted himself from bed.

It wasn't until he was leaving the bathroom that he noticed the white envelope on the entry stairs to his apartment, clearly slid in along the floor, hanging half off the step. Frowning, he picked it up and pulled out the folded paper inside.

A single sheet. A simple message.

_To the Champion,_

_You have been challenged. Arrive at the arena at the center before the last stroke of midnight._

"Is this a joke?" John rubbed his free hand over his eyes, suddenly weary despite having just woken up. Midnight. Only a few hours away.

"A joke, John?" Daniel, from inside the bedroom, had unfortunately gotten up and was pulling his nightshirt on. John took him the note.

"Do you know anything about this? We just had a duel. Is this May again?"

"It is not May," Daniel said, shaking his head slightly as he scanned the note. "And it is unusual to see another challenge so soon. Please... be careful, John."

The worry in his eyes, as always, sent a surge of protectiveness through him. He stepped close to wrap an arm around Daniel's waist, pressing a kiss to his hair. "I won't lose. I'm not going to lose you. I promise."

"Thank you," Daniel whispered, nestling his face into the crook of his neck. For a long moment he was silent. Then John felt the soft press of his lips to his neck. "Will you... can we get ready together? Come shower with me, John?"

The invitation was new, and suddenly more compelling than John could have imagined. He gave a soft, interested hum, pulling back to claim a soft kiss from his lips, stroking a hand down his chest. "Come shower with you?"

He felt Daniel smile against his lips, returning his kiss. "Well... we both need to be clean, do we not? It only makes sense...."

"It seems like a rather inefficient way to get clean," John murmured, though his next kiss grew more possessive, fingers finding the bottom button of his nightshirt and tugging it undone.

Daniel gave a pleased sigh, arching closer to him. "That is rather what I'm hoping, John."

Once in the shower with him, John quickly saw the merit of the idea, stroking slick hands over Daniel's body as they kissed, the warm water cascading down their bodies. He'd thought that nothing in the world could be nicer than Daniel naked, but Daniel _wet and naked_ might just be even better. Daniel broke from his kisses long enough to find the soap, soap slick hands stroking suds over John's hips and stomach and chest, and that felt even better. John pulled him close, rocking slowly against the slick pleasure of his naked body, and as his hands mapped Daniel's wet back and hips and that pert, beautiful ass, his lover gave little pleased noises into his kisses that quickly became more needy.

John pressed him back against the bathroom tiles with a groan, stealing Daniel's soft cry with another kiss, tongue claiming his mouth as he thrust the hard length of his cock against the slick lines of Daniel's stomach, alongside Daniel's own. Part of him thought he could happily continue doing so until the both came, but Daniel wrapped one thigh up around his hip with a little desperate, keening moan. "John, please...."

John groaned, nipping at his bottom lip. "You want me to fuck you, darling?"

"Always," Daniel gasped, hips stuttering up against him. "Oh god, always. Please. I don't need anything, it's fine, I just need - "

John cut him off with a kiss and drew back, pulling aside the shower curtain to look out into the bathroom, not wanting to fuck him without at least something to ease the way. To his surprise there was a small bottle of lube sitting on the shelf by the bath. Had he put it there, or had Daniel? He decided not to question the convenience, catching it up and turning back to his lover to find him resting against the tiles on his forearms, thighs spread and back arched, his round, pert ass on glorious display.

"God, you're perfect," John groaned, and pressed up against him, pressing the length of his cock between those delectable cheeks as his fingers raked over them, squeezing. 

He could feel the way it made Daniel shudder as he whimpered, grinding his ass back against him. "Perfect for you to fuck," he gasped, closing his eyes. "Please, John...."

"My sweet, needy love...." There was no reason to hold back when he wanted it so badly, too. He adjusted the spray of the shower, then slicked his cock, leaning in close and pressing a wet kiss to Daniel's shoulder. Then he started to press into him, slow and deep, groaning as Daniel's body opened up to him, taking and taking until he was buried to the hilt.

"Perfect," Daniel gasped, drawing a shuddering breath. "Oh god...."

"Perfect," John echoed, grinding slowly against his ass, groaning into his shoulder. He'd never fucked Daniel standing before - no need to, when bed was usually so convenient - and there was a delightful deviance to it now. It was a little awkward - Daniel was notedly shorter than him, after all - but as he started to pick up the pace his lover shifted, pressing his thighs together and letting the rock of John's hips push him up onto his tiptoes, crying out in pleasure.

Somehow it made him feel even tighter around John's cock, and John groaned, biting at his shoulder, grinding up harder into him. "Fuck, Daniel...."

"Oh god yes," Daniel gasped, fingers curling into fists on the tiles. "Fill me up so good, John, so big... oh god, thank you...."

John licked up his neck with a throaty chuckle, continuing the slow, deep grind of his hips. "You thanking me for you letting me fuck your tight little ass?" he breathed, bucking up harder, pushing a shuddering cry from Daniel's lips.

"Yes," he whimpered. "Oh yes. Like nothing else, John. Having you inside me... god, harder - !"

John wrapped one arm around his waist to anchor himself, answering his plea, groaning breathlessly against his neck as he began to fuck him in earnest. Everything between them was slick and hot and perfect, his hips smacking wetly against Daniel's ass as he buried himself deep in that perfect bliss again and again, drawing the most wonderful cries of pleasure from Daniel's throat. "Whenever you want," he gasped, feeling like his vision was hazy with pleasure, words half nonsense. "Made to fuck you, love, fuck... so perfect... so fucking good...!"

Then there was only pleasure, the desperate rhythm of their bodies, Daniel's breathless, beautiful cries, helpless from the pound of his hips. John sealed his lips against his neck just under his ear, sucking at the sweetness of his skin, scraping it with his teeth.

"My Daniel," he gasped. "My darling, my love - " and as he spoke, he felt Daniel's pleasure break, heard his lover give a choked, desperate sob as he came apart on John's cock, pulling John along with him into the most exquisite pleasure of climax.

John buried his face in the crook of his neck, panting, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around Daniel's waist to keep him secure. He found one of Daniel's hands on the tile with his free one, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"John?" his lover said softly, then continued at John's soft hum of acknowledgement. "We... we'll be together again, won't we? This isn't... this won't be our last time?"

"I promise. No matter what." John nuzzled the side his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his eye. "I'll make sure that you and I can be together as long as you wish to be with me. Whatever it takes. I'll protect you."

Was it his imagination, or did Daniel shudder at his words? John pressed a kiss to the corner of his eye, feeling the twisted skin shift as Daniel's eyelids fell closed. "Are you alright?" he murmured, and Daniel's fingers, intertwined with his, squeezed tighter.

"Yes," he whispered. "Thank you, John."

~~~

 _Protect Daniel_ , he thought again as he stepped off the staircase at the bottom of the arena, the strange clicking noises of the Masters clustered above shifting, ebbing and flowing. He'd tried to stop thinking about the fact that his clothing changed each time he came down into the arena, to stop wondering _how_ it changed, and what else that kind of power could accomplish.

Daniel was waiting for him, as always, in the center of the arena. John had learned that asking how he always arrived there before him was futile. "Let's get this over with," he said as he approached him. "May I have my rose?"

His lover nodded, taking one of the blooms from his breast pocket and pinning it carefully in place. Then he glanced behind John and drew a sharp gasp. "John."

A woman strode into arena, the braid on her black jacket a shining black against the black suiting. Even with her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, John recognized her immediately, recognized the face from the photo on his mantel he'd contemplated so many times.

"Emma!"

"Now you remember me." Emma's lips twisted, and as she continued forward John could see that her eyes were shadowed darkly with fatigue.

"Masters of the arena, please grant your champion the power to pursue eternity. Give me the sword, hurry." Behind him, he could hear Daniel speaking to the Strangers, but John's attention was on the woman in front of him, who was drawing the sword that hung from the belt around her waist.

She already had a rose pinned to her breast - so dark red it was nearly black - he realized with a shock, just as the great clock above him chimed.

The duel had already begun.

"I'm sorry," he replied, starting backwards as Emma's pace increased, trying to keep an awareness of the arena walls behind him as Frank had taught him. "I didn't think you wanted - I didn't think you wanted to see me."

"I did," Emma choked, expression hardening. "And I didn't. And now I never want to see you again!" She rushed him, sword slicing through the air, and John just barely managed to twist out of the way.

"Emma!"

"I was happy with her!" Emma cried, rushing him again. "Why did you have to change that? Why did you have to ruin everything!?"

"Emma, I - I don't know what you're talking about, I - "

"John, your sword - please - "

Yes, he needed the sword to fight. But despite Daniel's words, he didn't dare take his attention from Emma, dancing back out of the reach of her blade.

"You do know what I'm talking about!" Emma sobbed, voice breaking in her fury. "She came to see you! May died because of you, she killed herself because of you!"

"She's dead?" The words hit John like a blow, and he froze. The woman he'd just seen, just fought, just defeated - 

"John!"

Daniel's terrified cry roused him just in time to stumble backwards away from Emma's wild thrust. Too wild - was she going for his rose, or his heart? "I'm sorry," he called out. "I didn't realize - I didn't know. I didn't know, Emma!"

"John!" Daniel's voice beside him, more desperate. "Your sword!"

"It should have been you!" Emma yelled. "She was beautiful, and wonderful, and she - she loved me! More than you ever did! It should have been you!"

"John!" Daniel called again, but suddenly picking up the blade was the last thing John wanted to do. Emma had suffered, was still suffering. So much. The last thing she deserved was for him to raise a blade against her or add to her pain.

"I'm sorry, Emma," he said softly, reaching out a hand to her. He needed her sword gone, and then suddenly it _was_ , disappearing from her hand as though it had never been. Emma gave a desperate, broken cry, rushing at him with her fists, struggling as she tried to strike him.

It only took a moment for John to catch hold of her wrists, pulling her close as she struggled wildly. "I'm so sorry," he murmured again, feeling his words crack with sorrow. "I'm so sorry she's gone, Emma."

Emma gave a shuddering, keening moan and dissolved into tears, all of her struggle dissolving, her body sagging, half collapsing against him. After that it was too easy to catch her, support her, plucking the rose from her breast and tossing it away out into the arena. Above them, the clock chimed again.

"Shh," he murmured, sinking carefully to his knees, his weeping wife held close. "Shh, Emma..."

"I loved her," Emma sobbed, clinging to him, face buried in his chest. "John, I loved her. I loved her and I never told her, I - I never told her! "

"I'm so sorry." John looked back to where Daniel stood waiting with the black-clad men, his expression unreadable. With the second white rose still in his breast pocket and John's unused sword in his hand, he looked strangely like a dualist himself.

 _I need to tell him,_ John thought, as the leader raised his hand and everything around him went black.

~~~

 

When John awoke, it was quiet, and he was in his own bed. That was familiar, that he was getting used to. What was unfamiliar was the fact that he was alone.

"Daniel?" He rose from the bed, worried, heading out into the main room. Confirming that he was well and truly alone, John's heart began to race. Had something gone wrong? He'd won the duel, he knew he had. He'd knocked the rose from Emma's breast. It shouldn't have mattered how.

But if he'd won... where was Daniel?

Then he felt a shock of fear. Emma. If the last woman he'd fought had died, where was Emma? Was she alright? And in that vein, what had happened to Walenski? Apart from Leon, who was obviously under Frank's protection, John realized that he had no idea where any of them were... or if they were still alive.

Frank would know. Frank would have to know, he thought, pulling on his overcoat and heading out of the apartment and down the stairs. Surely the inspector would be at the precinct, it wouldn't take long to get there. Frank would know what was going on, Frank could help him find Daniel, and....

Halfway across the street, John's thoughts stuttered to a stop, along with his feet.

... to match every car, every person on the street.

He stared at the crumpled bodies on the sidewalk across the street. Were they dead? And what about the cars? They couldn't all be dead, could they? He ran ahead to the nearest car, pulling open the driver's side door and jumping back as the driver tumbled out, limp and unresponsive. But he was breathing, John could feel as he leaned in close. They all were, asleep. But what could cause such a thing?

_The Masters._

Of course. After what he'd seen in the arena - after what he'd experienced himself - what other explanation could there be? But were they really powerful enough to do something like this on such a huge scale? And why was he awake while the others slept?

Perhaps this was the power of eternity.

John shook his head, trying to bank down the sudden terror in his heart, and started walking faster. Then, across the street, he caught sight of movement in an alley, and instinctively ducked the darkened doorway of a shop to hide.

The Masters, he recognized, watching the group of men in their long dark jackets appear out of the darkness. One of them had a man slung over his shoulder, and they took him up the stairs to a home with a big bay window, the lights dim inside, and opened the front door like it wasn't even locked.

Then John caught sight of something else, and his heart stopped.

Daniel, limping after the last of the Masters, wearing the same suit and jacket he'd worn when he'd left John before the duel. He was carrying the same doctor's bag they had in the arena, and climbed the steps to the house as well.

No - it wasn't a house, it was a salon. He stared hard, mind rejecting the sudden change. The house's bay window was wide and bright from the lights inside, now. A woman was slumped into a hairdresser's chair, and the strangers deposited the man into a second, tying a cape around his neck.

Then John watched, feeling his entire body going cold, as Daniel tilted the unconscious man's head back. Then he pulled a strange device from the bag that appeared to be some kind of syringe, piercing between the man's eyebrows, _piercing into his skull_ , and injecting him.

Even after the city around him came back to life, John clung to the doorframe of the closed shop where he was hiding, feeling like he could hardly breathe.

Finally, not knowing what else to do, he went home.

Daniel was seated at the kitchen table with a pot of tea, nursing his own cup while an empty one was set out on a saucer on the other side for John. He gave an audible sigh of relief as John stepped inside, standing to meet him. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up, John," he said quietly, helping John off with his coat, and John let him take it.

He was always there, wasn't he? With the thought in his mind, John couldn't help but think back over his past time with Daniel. Daniel was here to serve him, he'd said. As the Bride.

To serve him, or... to watch him?

"Where's Emma?" he asked, and Daniel lowered his head, pulling away from him and returning to sit down at the table, pouring another cup of tea for John.

"She's... not Emma anymore," he said finally, looking up at him. "I'm sorry."

John stayed standing, gripping the back of hte chair. "What do you mean, she's not Emma anymore? She's been reset?"

"More than reset," Daniel replied quietly, cupping his hands around his cup. "She is... no longer Emma. I think, all things considered... it is a kindness."

"Stop. What do you mean, she's no longer Emma? How is that possible? Is she dead?"

"No. I made certain of it, John. But she is no longer Emma. She was not reset. She was... changed. Into someone different."

"Change?" John shook his head. "I don't understand. That's impossible."

"How much of what we have seen should be impossible?" Daniel took a sip of his tea. "Sit down, John. Please."

Not knowing what else to do, John sat, dumping some milk into his tea and taking a sip without bothering to stir it. "I didn't even try to look for her," he said softly, staring down at the cloudy liquid. "When I woke up, it was the only thing I had. Her letter. And now she's gone and I'm no closer to figuring out who I really am."

"I believe you are, John." Daniel's voice was soft, and when John looked up across the table to him, his expression was gentle, compassionate. "The kindness you showed to Emma in the arena tonight... that is your true self. Anyone else would have -"

John shook his head. "Her lover died. I couldn't hurt Emma any more. That woman I fought, May... she..." he stopped. "Is she dead?"

"The May Jensen you fought no longer exists," Daniel replied gently. "And Emma is no longer of use to the Masters, not in this round. She has influenced your growth exponentially. Now it is time for you to continue on the path. Onward and inward, towards the secrets of Eternity."

"And when does it end? When do I win, what happens then?"

For a long moment Daniel just stared at him, lips parted slightly. Then he looked down. I'm sorry, John. I don't know the answer to that. No-one has ever... beat the final duel."

"And when the fail... they cease to exist."

Daniel swallowed visibly, and nodded.

John wanted to believe him, as incredible as it all was. He wanted to set aside his misgivings and trust him. He'd already thrown his lot in with Daniel, somehow. And the only way out was to lose... and lose what little memories he had left.

Possibly his whole identity. What little he'd built of it.

He wanted to believe Daniel. But after seeing what the Masters were doing when the city was asleep....

He abandoned his tea and pushed the chair back from the table. "I'm going out."

Daniel stood as well. "Of course. I'll go with you."

"No." The word came out harsher than John had intended, and he tried to ignore the fact that Daniel looked like he'd been kicked. "No," he said again, more gently. "Please, I just need some time to myself. Maybe I'll go train. I'd like you to stay here. Could you do that for me?"

Daniel swallowed, and nodded, eyes lowered. "Of course, John. Anything you wish."

"Thank you," John said, and took his coat from the closet and left, trying to push aside the unwelcome turmoil of guilt and betrayal in the pit of his stomach.

~~~


	11. Delire

Leaving the apartment seemed silly when John had just come back. But it was too hard to stay there with Daniel when his mind was in turmoil; Daniel, who always seemed to know what he needed to hear, who always made so much sense. Who somehow always managed to get John to agree with him. Could he trust someone like that?

And what did he know beyond Daniel?

Emma, now gone. One more empty gap in his history. In the flecks of long ago memory, only half-sensical. John stopped on a street corner, closed his eyes, and tried to still his thoughts. To remember.

A hand on his hair, a woman's voice. Warmth and brightness. The sea? Did he grow up there, or was it merely a vacation?

He continued along the street, then onto a more major thoroughfare, past people who trickled out of a movie theatre, laughing and talking to their friends. Such a normal, carefree life it seemed. How did he end up here?

He paused in front of a newspaper stand, scanning the titles, the headlines. Nothing he was familiar with. Then he paused on a stand of postcards, eyes moving over artwork of a blonde woman in the sea in a white and red polkadot bikini, beach ball high overhead. Her smile was inviting. She looked like the woman he'd fought, John found himself thinking with a rush of sorrow.

"Hey, you need something, pal?"

John forced an apologetic smile, shaking his head. "Hey, is Shell Beach around here?"

"Course. Out past East Point."

John nodded. The name was unfamiliar. "Do you know how to get there?"

"Try the subway," the newspaper man said dismissively, turning away and raising his paper again to end their conversation.

The subway. John vaguely remembered seeing a station on the way to the precinct, and started in that direction. He was unfamiliar with the system, but one of the platforms had a "To East Point" sign, so he stepped onto that train, examining the map as the train started off to his next stop. The spiderweb of train lines seemed overwhelming - lines intersecting and connecting at randoms stations, curving back towards each other seemingly without reason. But Shell Beach was there, right at the end, past a station labeled East Point.

"End of Line," the voice on the train loudspeaker said suddenly, and John found himself shuffled off the train.

"This is the middle of the line," he tried to say to the woman next to him, who shrugged.

"Try the express," someone else suggested, which was another platform, but that train somehow turned into the blue line, and before John knew it he was closer to where he'd come from than where he wanted to be, lost in a seeming maze of stations.

"I just want to go to Shell Beach," he said helplessly to a train conductor, who tipped his hat.

"Try the express," he said, and walked away, leaving John even more lost and frustrated.

"You're still Murdoch, aren't you?"

John froze, recognizing the voice that called out to him immediately. Slowly he turned.

The bundle of dirty clothes in the corner on a station bench was one he'd ignored when he'd gotten off the train as _unsavory_ and _homeless_. But the face that peered up at him was one of the few he recognized in the city. "Walenski?"

The man unfolded from the bench, standing. "Walenski's just a fake identity. Like everyone else here."

John shook his head, stepping closer and lowering his voice. "Who are you?"

"Me?" He shrugged. "I was a cop, once. In that life. Doesn't really matter who I am anymore. They steal our memories, you know. Swap them around between us. I seen them do it, back and forth... till no one knows who they are anymore."

John thought back to the house that was now a salon, to the device in Daniel's fingers. The substance he'd injected into the man's skull.

"Once in awhile one of us wakes up, while they're changing things," Walenski continued, rocking back on the balls of his feet. "Not supposed to happen, but it does. Happened to you, didn't it? It happened to me."

John watched him carefully, then gave a slow nod. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, it... I don't even know what to think. What do we do?"

The corners of Walenski's mouth stretched into a smile that made John want to turn away. "I figured a way out."

"Yeah?" John asked weakly.

Walenski gave a hum of agreement, watching him. Then he drew breath. "I challenge you, champion. You and me at the arena. Midnight. I want the bride back."

"Goddammit," John muttered before he could stop himself. "Really, Walenski?"

"Of course. I told you, I found away out." Then he turned, heading towards the arriving train. "See you there, Murdoch."

~~~

 

At least he was clean, John found himself thinking as Walenski walked towards the center of the arena, his ragged clothes replaced with the duelist uniform.

"Please be careful, John," Daniel murmured as he stepped close to pin the rose to his breast, his expression worried and somewhat miserable.

John sighed, feeling another rush of guilt. He hadn't been in a good mood when he'd returned home from Walenski's challenge, and he'd slept alone. He caught Daniel's hand as he went to step away, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his temple, just below the arm of his glasses.

"I'll be careful," he assured, feeling Daniel relax against him. "I'll protect you. I promise."

"Thank you," Daniel whispered, giving him a brief, trembling smile, then turning for Walenski.

The way Walenski looked at Daniel still made John's blood boil, John realized. Like Daniel was an object to possess, a tool to use. He was silent this time as Daniel pinned the rose to his breast, then crossed back to the Masters, taking the hilt of the champion's sword and dropping to one knee in front of them, the full bottom of his frock coat spread full against the stone floor of the arena around him. "Masters of the arena, please grant your champion the power to pursue eternity."

"We grant it," the leader said simply, the shining blade of the sword coming into being, and soon enough it was in John's hand, the chime from the clock above them resonating throughout the arena.

"Let the Duel Commence."

Blocking Walenski's rush felt instinctive now, though John had forgotten how strong, how savage the man was. "I've been training," he told the other man as he parried, throwing him back and taking a carefully measured swing, his blade meeting Walenski's. "You aren't going to take him from me."

"You don't understand, Murdoch." There was that desperation again, the wildness John had seen before. "I have to. I have no choice."

John grit his teeth, answering his blows and returning them, driving him back. Reasoning with the man was clearly futile. He just had to beat him, he just had to get this over with.

"Please," Walenski said, more desperate, and John realized that he was gaining the upper hand. That Walenski knew it. "Please," he said again. "Just let me win. I have to win, I have to get out. You can have him back when I'm out, I swear it, I - "

"You're not having him!" John didn't know where his surge of determination came from, or the strength that he suddenly felt, but he fell upon Walenski with hard, unrelenting blows that the man just barely kept up with, tumbling backwards onto the stone. He brought his blade up in front of him in one last attempt to block him, and John brought his sword down on the metal, feeling the other blade shudder, shattering, pieces scattering onto the arena floor.

"You're not having him," he repeated, and a single deft twist of his sword sent Walenski's rose flying out into the arena.

For a moment Walenski said nothing, panting, staring up at him as the clock above them chimed. Then he lifted the remains of his blade. 

"That's okay," he said, lips twisting into a terrible smirk. "I told you. I figured a way out." Then his own blade was against his throat, slicing deep into his flesh, blood welling, spurting, a fountain of crimson.

"Stop!" John cried out in horror, dropping his sword, reaching out. But before he could grab the hilt from Walenski's hand, the Master's voice rang out across the arena, and everything went black.

_"Sleep."_

~~~

"Stop!!" John wrenched himself from sleep with a desperate cry, the horror of what had happened eclipsing everything. "Stop, please, stop - "

"John!" Hands on his shoulders. Daniel. John was back in his own bed, his own clothes. The duel was over. And Walenski... Walenski was....

He couldn't hold back shuddering, keening moan that came from his mouth, chest aching with it as he clutched Daniel tightly, burying his face in his shoulder. "He's dead! He's dead - god, why didn't I let him win?"

"You couldn't have known, John." Daniel's voice was barely a whisper, just as horrified as his own. His arms tightened around him. "You couldn't have known."

~~~

 

Three duels in as many days, Frank thought to himself grimly as he and Leon slipped through the side door of the arena, down the dark hall to the ground floor observation deck that looked down into the arena.

"Why have there been so many?" Leon asked softly, holding to Frank's arm, and Frank shook his head.

"It's never been like this before," he murmured, drawing Leon closer unconsciously as they walked. "John must be exhausted. But... those powers...."

"Like the masters," Leon whispered, and when Frank looked down at him, Leon looked faintly terrified.

"Let's just watch," he said softly as they reached the rail of the observation deck. He pulled both pairs of opera glasses from his coat pockets, handing one pair to Leon, then drawing close against his side, keeping his arm tight around his waist as the duel began.

Compared to the last time he'd fought Walenski, the duel was almost laughably unbalanced, Frank found himself thinking. Whether it was his training, or whether he had remembered his former skill, Frank couldn't tell. And there was still flaws in his form, Frank thought, making careful note of them for their next session.

The acoustics of the arena carried the duelists words up to them - faint, but audible. Walenski's desperation was palatable, and Frank couldn't help but worry, and wonder. What had happened to him after his last failure? What did he mean, a way out? And why was he so certain that The Bride was the key, and not the duels? Walenski's claim that he he only needed The Bride to get out, that he'd return him....

Then John shattered his challenger's sword with a mighty blow, and Frank watched, horrified, as Walenski brought the blade to his own throat.

He jerked Leon back away from the rail with a gasp, pressing his lover's face into his chest. "Don't look!" he cried, even as Leon gave a horrified sob, dropping his opera glasses and clinging to him. But Frank kept his to his eyes, watching as the Masters' command made both men collapse to the arena floor, unconscious. The pool of crimson quickly forming under Walenski was too fast, too much. Surely they wouldn't let him die, Frank thought desperately, but as the Masters moved forward to heft Murdoch's unconscious form, they disregarded Walenski completely, abandoning his body on the floor as they headed for the elevator.

"Is he dead?" Leon whispered against his chest, and Frank lowered his opera glasses, holding Leon tighter.

"... yes."


	12. Frank Bumstead

After watching Walenski bleed out far below him on the floor of the arena, all Frank wanted to do was get Leon away. As soon as he was certain that they wouldn't run into the Masters, he took Leon home as fast as they could manage, up into the safety and quiet of his apartment.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, already taking out the good whiskey and a couple of tumblrs.

Leon nodded mutely, cuddling up against his arm as he poured the drinks, face pressed to his shoulder. "Can we lay down together afterwards?" he said softly, taking the glass from him. "Just... just to cuddle?"

Frank pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead before draining half his glass in one gulp. "Absolutely," he murmured, never wanting to let Leon out of his arms again.

It wasn't until later, when Leon was fast asleep and Frank had gotten up for water that he saw the white envelope on the floor in his front entry. It was unmarked, but it didn't need to be; he knew all too well where it had come from.

Without bothering to open it, he crossed the room to open the window, setting it on the grate of the fire escape and lighting it aflame. Then he went back to bed. Back to Leon.

His lover made a sleepy noise and curled closer to him. "... something burning?"

"Everything's fine, love," Frank murmured, and kissed his hair. "Go back to sleep, alright?"

"Mmm," Leon agreed, curling closer, and Frank closed his eyes and tried not to think what would be in the next letter.

~~~

 

The next letter appeared on Frank's desk the next day, late in the day when Frank was thinking about little but going to the salle with Leon for a session with John, grabbing food, then taking his sweet lover home together. He crumpled it without looking, tossing it into the garbage beside his desk and dumping the dregs of his coffee on top of it. Then he went to the salle.

The John Murdoch that waited there for him was visually troubled, subdued. "Frank... the last duel... Walenski...."

"I know," Frank said flatly. "We were there. You need to work on your riposte. Get your gear on."

John jerked back as if stung. "Is that all you have to say? A man _died_ , he - "

"What else can I say?" Frank could hear the helpless frustration in his own voice, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry if you felt that this was just a game, or that it would be easy. Every duel, every challenge is an impossible choice. Walenski made his."

For a long moment John just stared at him, brows knit, lips pressed tight together. "... there's been others, then. That have... that have...."

Frank looked away. "No. Walenski... I guess he'd seen enough."

John nodded, eyes downcast, and let out a long breath. "Yeah. Just hard not to feel like it's my fault."

"Hey." Frank stepped closer to lay a hand on his shoulder. "It's not, you know. Walenski's been self-destructing for a long time. He would have ended up here one way or another. You're the Champion, your job isn't to try and save other duelists from themselves. You just have to win, to be committed to that completely. You can't allow your focus to waver. Alright?"

"Alright," John said softly, and pulled away to get his gear. But as he dressed Frank couldn't help but notice that, although Daniel helped him as he always did, John avoided the Bride's gaze completely.

~~~

"You were too hard on him," Leon said quietly as they made their way home.

Frank shook his head. He'd thoroughly trounced John on the piste, relentlessly driven past his defenses and made him aware of every weakness. John had left limping and exhausted. "He needs to expect strong opponents. I can't take it easy on him. It would be a disservice."

"I meant about Walenski." Leon's bottom lip trembled. "You know him too, didn't you, sir? Do you really feel like there was nothing any of us could have done?"

Frank sighed, and for a moment the guilt and grief was too strong to reply, too strong to do anything but keep driving. Finally he pulled into his parking spot and cut the engine.

"Of course I feel like there's something I could have done," he said quietly, staring at the steering wheel. "I think of it every time something happens, every time someone gets hurt or reset or every time they disappear from the duels. I've tried, Leon. And all I have to show for it is holes in my memory that I know were my punishment. People I knew erased without a trace." He looked up at Leon helplessly. "The Masters will get what they want, no matter what we do. Walenski would have ended up in that arena again no matter what we did. I learned that the hard way. It's easier to serve them than to just be an unknowing pawn."

Leon's lips twisted unhappily. "All right," he whispered, and Frank sighed.

"Come on. Let's go inside." It was hard to ignore how quiet, how defeated Leon seemed. Frank checked the floor of his front entry carefully as he pushed open the door, half-expecting another envelope, and gave a sigh of relief when there was nothing. Then he locked the door behind Leon, pulling him close.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I know you don't like it. And I know you must think badly of me for it. I'm sorry, Leon."

Leon shook his head, looking up at him with a little trembling smile. "I don't. I understand, Frank. I just wish you - I wish we didn't have to do this. I... I hate them for it."

"I know," Frank agreed, and kissed him, not knowing what else to do.

~~~

 

As they were eating breakfast the next evening, Frank heard a soft swish, and looked up towards his front entry to see another envelope slide under his door and along the floor.

Leon was on his feet in an instant, still in his robe, unlocking the front door.

"Leon, don't - " Frank called out, but he already had the door open, darting out onto the landing.

Frank sighed, crossing the room to pick up the envelope, grabbing the box of matches off his fireplace mantel and heading for the window.

"There was no-one there," Leon said, sounding confused as he stepped in and locked the door behind him. "And not on the staircase, everything's quiet. Do you think it was one of your - what are you doing?"

"Don't worry about it," Frank said, striking the match and bringing it to the corner of the envelope over top of the fire escape.

"You didn't even open it? What if...." Leon stopped, staring as the paper caught fire. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. "... it's from Them, isn't it? The Masters."

"Possible." Frank held the envelope by one corner as it burned, turning it carefully to make sure the entire paper was engulfed in flame before finally dropping it onto the grate of the fire escape and closing the window. "Unfortunately, since the note is gone, I can't know."

"It could be a notification of another duel..." Leon suggested weakly, and Frank shook his head.

"It's not," he replied, crossing back to wrap an arm around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his hair. "Don't worry about it, alright? I'll take care of it. I promise."

"Okay," Leon replied, and Frank felt another burst of anger towards the Masters for making his sweet lover sound so scared.

~~~

 

He was only putting off the inevitable, Frank knew. It was as he'd told Leon. The Masters would get what they wanted, no matter what he did. If what they wanted was for him to challenge John... it's what would happen. Still, he ignored their summons, even though he wasn't sure what it would change, what could it would be. Was he hoping another challenger would appear? Someone beyond the now-absent women, and poor, tragic Walenski?

Then he came back from a meeting to find an all-too familiar figure in a long black coat and hat standing outside of his office, talking to Leon, and Frank's blood ran cold.

He felt a sudden surge of rage, and fought to keep calm as he swiftly made his way across the precinct bullpen. He could count the number of in-person interactions he'd had with the Masters on one hand, and the fact that one of them had dared to come here, _dared_ to approach Leon.... "Something I can help you with, Mr...."

The man who was one of the Masters regarded him coolly. "Mr. Hand. We had hoped to speak with you in private, Inspector."

Leon looked up at him, eyes wide and fearful, and Frank gave him a brief smile that he hoped was reassuring. Then he extended an arm towards his office with a flourish of hospitality that was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do to this Mr. Hand. "We can speak in my office, if that pleases you."

Mr. Hand stepped past him without another word. Once inside Frank's office he regarded a billboard of case photos silently, one head tilting to the side, the angle strange and almost comically unnatural. Like a cat, Frank thought, and seeing him up close, it struck him how very pale the man was. Albino, perhaps. And yet no different from the other masters....

"I've already given my report to The Bride this week," Frank started, trying to keep his tone conversational. "I hope everything was in order."

"Your work is not our concern, Inspector. We think you know this, yes?" Mr. Hand turned, turning his strange, unblinking gaze on him. "The letters we have sent. You have not acted on them.

"I'm afraid they may have been misplaced," Frank replied simply, refusing to break from the man's peering gaze.

"It is very inconvenient for us that you have been so careless," Mr. Hand said, lips thinning with displeasure. "Our time is valuable. We do not appreciate the need to seek you out here, Inspector. But no matter. We will give you your instructions now in person so that there will be no mistake. The time has come for you to challenge John Murdoch."

For a long moment, Frank stared back at him, unflinching. "No, I don't think I will."

"An unfortunate decision, Inspector. And not one that is yours to make. Or perhaps, given your unwillingness to participate, we will engage your young officer again. He is so very easy to reset."

The thought left Frank feeling both helpless and blinded with rage. "You wouldn't dare," he said, even knowing that they could and would, easily. That Leon would, as long as Frank loved him, be in danger from the Masters' manipulations. That giving in to their demands was the only way to keep him safe.

"You leave us little choice," Mr. Hand remarked simply, confirming his thoughts. "You will challenge him again, Mr. Bumstead. You will challenge him and you will win. Or else it will be time for the young officer to take a turn again, won't it?

"Listen," Frank snarled. "I'll challenge. But here's my conditions. If I win, you guarantee me that Leon never has to challenge again. You hear me?"

Mr Hand tilted his head to one side for a moment, as if listening to something as he regarded him. "We guarantee it," he said finally. "But you must win, yes. You must win against John Murdoch."

It was an idea that sat uneasy with him. But now, it seemed, he had no choice. "Fine," Frank said, and turned to pick up the pen on his desk.

~~~

 

"... are you alright, sir?" Leon asked quietly from the doorway, once Frank's unwelcome visitor was gone, and Frank sighed, burying his face in his hands and running his fingers through his hair.

"I'm fine," he said, then raised his head, looking up at the clock. Still hours before midnight. But not as long as he'd like. He stood, catching up his coat and hat from the hatstand. "We're leaving. Come with me."

Leon nodded, falling silently into step with him. Once they were safely in Frank's car and on their way away he turned to watch him, and Frank could see his lover's anxious expression out of the corner of his eye.

"... you have to challenge Murdoch again, don't you?"

Frank sighed, then slowly gave a nod of admission.

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

"...oh."

Frank sighed again, turning down the street to his building. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know you don't like it. I don't like it either. But I have to."

"Do you really?" Leon's voice was small, and tight, and sent a wave of guilt and regret through him.

He parked the car, turning to face him. "I told you. The Masters will get what they want, no matter what we do. I'm sorry Leon. I can't avoid this any longer. There's no telling what they would do."

Leon lowered his head, giving a small, silent nod as he stared down at the seat between them. "You... you'll come back to me, right? They won't reset you?"

Leon's assumption that he had no intention of defeating John or winning the bride made him feel even more guilty. Frank reached out to cup his face gently with one hand. "Leon. I'll come back to you. Always. I promise you that."

He felt Leon shiver as he pressed his cheek into his hand, giving a trembling smile as he looked up at him. "Please can you take me to bed now, Frank?"

Frank nodded, and leaned down to claim a kiss from those soft lips, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be as close to Leon as possible, as soon as possible.

It didn't take long to get him upstairs, to have Leon naked against him, his arms wrapped up around Frank's shoulders as he arched close, giving himself over to Frank's kisses and touch like he was starved for them. Leon's passion and sensuality was something that never changed; the way he seemed to come alive under Frank's touch, giving himself over completely to the hedonism of the moment and still craving more, desperate and needy. It never changed, and yet Frank could never quite push aside the feeling of incredulous wonder at being able to touch such beauty, the lean strength and form of Leon's body perfection under his hands.

He let Leon push him back onto the bed against the headboard, grasping his narrow hips and pulling him close again as Leon climbed up to straddle his lap. This too he was well familiar with, the way Leon liked to grind his ass down against the length of Frank's cock, fingers clenched in Frank's hair and kisses breathless. His own erection pressed into Frank's stomach, and Frank pulled him closer, encouraging him to rock, filling his hands with the perfect roundness of Leon's ass and squeezing.

Leon's hips stuttered against him, and he gave a helpless whine, the head of his cock slick with arousal as it rubbed against Frank's stomach. "Sir, please...."

"Shh, sweetheart...." Frank reached for the lube, working two slick fingers up into him, stealing Leon's cry with another kiss as he began to pump them in him slowly. This was almost as gratifying as making love to him... feeling Leon shudder squirm on his lap, trying to drive down onto his fingers for more sensation, breathless and whimpering.

"God yes," Leon gasped, his eyes falling closed, brows knitting as he pushed back against his fingers. "More, please...."

That was even better, feeling the stretch and flutter of his lover's tight body as he worked in a third finger. He was well used to how to angle now, working his fingers in slow thrusts until he could brush up against Leon's sweet spot each time until he was just rubbing and stimulating him, fingers buried up to the knuckles. He felt nearly drunk on it, the way that small, gentle circles could make Leon whimper and sob, writhing on his lap, face buried in Frank's neck.

"Please," his lover gasped, hips stuttering back against him. "Oh god, Frank, please fuck me, I - oh!"

Frank nuzzled his ear, not letting up the assault. "Of course I will," he murmured, hearing his own voice come rough with desire. "Any way you want. So tell me... I can fuck my boy right now... or I can make you come on my fingers, and then afterwards, when you're still fucked open and sensitive, I can fuck you for as long as you can last...."

Leon gave a soft sob, undulating on his lap, grinding down against his fingers. "That," he choked, fingers digging into Frank's back. "That, oh god, sir, please...."

 

"My darling," Frank murmured thickly. It wasn't hard to work his free hand between them, curling over Leon's cock and pressing it into his own stomach, letting Leon move as he liked, thrusting against him. At the same time he worked his fingers into his sweet spot a little more firmly, and soon Leon was rocking on him frantically, gasping for breath, tense and whimpering.

"My beautiful boy," Frank breathed in his ear. "My darling... my love...." It made Leon sob againt his skin, and then he was coming, shuddering around Frank's fingers as he spurted in Frank's fingers, spilling seed hot and slick on his stomach and chest.

It was fantastically, incomparably sexy, and Frank felt his erection twitch against Leon's thigh, craving more sensation. But rushing was the last thing he wanted to do. Not with Leon in his arms, completely lost to orgasm, giving himself over to nothing but pleasure.

Frank held him close, letting Leon rock against him through the shivers of climax, chasing sensation with the fortitude of the young until he finally sagged against him, panting.

"So beautiful like this," Frank murmured, and heard Leon gave a soft, pleased hum. 

He raised his head to press a long, slow kiss to Frank's mouth, pliant and warm. "Will you fuck me now, sir?" he breathed, then gave a soft hiss as Frank shifted his fingers inside him ever-so-sligtly.

"I don't think you can handle me quite yet." Frank found himself smiling as he spoke, nuzzling his jaw, and Leon gave a soft moan of dismay.

"I can, I can," he breathed, shifting back to find the lube. "Please, Frank... having you inside me... there's nothing else, I... even like this when I've just come, I need you...."

"Shh..." Frank leaned in to kiss him, warm and gentle, as he carefully eased his fingers from him. "Do as you will, then, my boy. I'm yours."

Leon gave a soft laugh, shaking his head, and pressed his lips to Frank's, hard and trembling. "No, sir. I'm yours. I've always been yours."

It was hard to keep from touching him. Frank wiped the remnants of Leon's seed on his own undershirt where it had been thrown on the bed, then ran his hands up and down Leon's lean, firm thighs. He let his eyes move over the beauty of his form as Leon shifted his hips down to take Frank in hand, leaning down with a soft groan to lick and suck at the head of his cock. Even if Leon couldn't quite take him all, his boundless enthusiasm for giving head was intoxicating, fingers stroking the base of Frank's shaft as he sucked him, jaw stretched wide, half choking as he tried to swallow around the head of his cock.

"Jesus..." Frank had to clench his fingers in neatly slicked hair, mussing it, encouraging him to suck for a few blissful moments longer before tugging him off. "God, you feel good. Slow down, sweetheart. Have to last if you want to ride me."

Leon laughed breathlessly, obviously pleased, leaning up to kiss him as he started to slick his cock. "You always know what to say to make me feel so sexy," he murmured, smiling against his mouth.

"Want you more than anything in the world," Frank growled in response, fingers digging into his hips. Leon laughed again, giving a pleased, happy noise. Then his fingers were wrapped firm around the base of Frank's cock, thighs tensing as he knelt up higher to stroke his cock against his ass, rocking the head against his loosened hole.

"Jesus..." Frank grit his teeth on a groan. For a moment it was impossible to think of anything but how good it would feel to be inside hm. He had to hold back to keep from pushing up into him, the press of his body an agonizing tease of sensation.

Leon gave a soft, answering whimper, rocking and grinding on him, letting the head of his cock tease up inside him, against the stretched-tight rim of his hole. That was even more exquisite, more torturous, feeling Leon's body squeeze and caress his sensitive head, the underside. For a moment he thought he wouldn't be able to bear it, but the little bucks of Leon's hips became more insistent until he was finally grinding down onto him, whimpering against Frank's mouth as he pushed him deep.

"Feels like nothing else in the world," Frank breathed, and Leon gave a breathless laugh in agreement, hips stuttering down onto him again. His cock brushed against Frank's stomach, already half-hard - to be young like that again, Frank thought wryly - and Leon seemed to clench down around him intentionally, a shudder moving through his whole body.

"Like nothing else," he breathed, ghosting Frank's lips with a kiss as he started to rock on him slowly. "Oh god, sir... fill me up so good...!"

He tried to be still, wanted to let Leon take his time, stroking his hands over his thighs, his hips, his flanks. But he could feel Leon's movements becoming more urgent, his kisses hungrier, grinding down onto his cock.

"Please," Leon gasped, hips stuttering down harder. "Please fuck me, sir. I'm good for it, please... use me with your cock, I need it, god - "

Frank was bucking up into him before he could stop himself, bracing his feet on the bed. "My needy little boy," he growled, desire burning hotter as his words made Leon sob, rocking down harder. He caught hold of Leon's hips and took control, pulling him down onto his cock as he buried himself inside him, hard and deep. "Feel so good, Leon... such a good boy, taking my cock...."

Leon gave a breathless, trembling sob, jerking down to meet his cock. "Don't stop," he gasped, crying out at a harder thrust, "Oh fuck, please - "

"Won't," Frank gasped, and let his passion have free reign, bucking up into him hard and fast. He could feel Leon shudder around him as his hips smacked into the roundness of his ass, each thrust pushing a breathless, exultant cry from his lover's lips.

"Take my cock so good, baby," he managed, panting, fingers digging into his hips. "Perfect little ass... squeezing me so tight... gonna make me come so hard, Leon, gonna fill you up - "

Whether it was his words or the relentless onslaught of his cock Leon gave a broken sob, and then he was clenching down around him impossibly tight, shudders of orgasm milking Frank's cock as he fucked up into him. The sensation was agonizing in its perfection, and Frank buried himself to the hilt and let go, grinding into the heat and pleasure of his body as his climax lit the world with pleasure.

He pulled Leon closer, panting, pressing kisses to his face, his hair. "Always take care of you," he breathed, holding him tighter. "I'll always protect you, my love. My Leon. I promise. I promise...."

"I know," Leon breathed, finding his mouth for a kiss, slow and trembling. "I know. I love you so much...."

"Always," Frank promised, and knew with complete conviction that he'd do whatever was necessary to keep Leon safe.

~~~


	13. Conviction

It had been easy to reach for Daniel in the aftermath of his terrible duel. After Walenski's... death. John couldn't think of anything else but needing to be close to him, to reassure himself with kisses and touch that they were both still alive.

Their lovemaking was unusually quiet, unusually desperate, and John couldn't bring himself to break the spell. Afterwards, as he held Daniel cuddled against his chest, he tried not to think about Walenski. Tried not to think about what he'd said, the things that he'd known that John had only just discovered to be true.

There was too many what ifs in his head. Too many questions to ask. Because the worst of them was the heartbreaking realization that he might not be able to trust the sweet man in his arms. That he might have allowed himself to fall in love with a lie, with the mask of a person far different than what was underneath.

He didn't want to believe that it was true. But after seeing Daniel with the Masters, it was hard to shake the realization that he might not truly know him at all.

Finding another invitation to duel slipped under his front door at an hour to midnight was almost as relieving as it was stressful.

"Do you know who it is?" he asked Daniel, and the other man shook his head.

"No. I'm sorry, John." He went to stay something, then stopped, not moving to approach him. His eyes looked wide with worry behind his wire-rimmed glasses, lips pinched tight. "John... will you fight?"

Despite his concerns, John couldn't stop himself from feeling. He stuffed the note in the pocket of his robe and crossed to draw Daniel to him, pressing a kiss to his hair. "I'll fight," he said softly, remembering Emma too clearly, remembering her pain and regret. "... I love you."

In his arms he felt Daniel shiver and curl closer, lifting his face silently to kiss him, trembling and desperate. "Thank you," he whispered finally, breath catching in his throat, and John tasted salt and realized he was crying.

"Shh..." he murmured, holding him closer and pressing his lips to his cheeks, to the tracks of his tears. "I won't leave you," he said again softly. "Is that what worries you?"

Daniel gave a silent, helpless laugh, and shook his head. Then he pulled back, looking up at him. "You love me."

"I do," John replied, the words making his throat ache.

Daniel drew a deep breath. "Then... do you trust me?" he asked finally.

John looked down into hopeful blue eyes, into the face of someone he'd kissed a hundred times. _How can I,_ he thought, and felt a rush of guilt. "I... don't know."

Disappointment flashed across Daniel's expression, and he lowered his eyes with a small nod.

"I want to, Daniel. I really do," John added quickly, hating how crushed the other man looked, just from his words. "There's just... so much that I don't know. I'm sorry."

"That's... fair," he said, lips pressing together tightly, shifting, uneasy. Then he asked, "Do you trust that I want you to succeed in the duels?"

"I... think so."

"... alright." Daniel looked at him for a long moment, as if assessing him, as if trying to make up his mind. Then he gave a sharp nod and pulled away. "I have something for you. I know you're not ready for it yet. But... I cannot know when They will pit you against someone who you cannot win against, and I cannot take the chance of you not having it." He crossed back into the bedroom as he spoke, going into the pockets of one of his suit jackets and retrieving something before coming back to John.

He held out his hand, and John felt his heart stop.

The glass syringe was encased in filigree bronze, delicate and shining in the dim light from his apartment. Inside the glass was a slightly milky liquid. Though he hadn't seen it up close, it was undoubtedly the same device as he'd seen Daniel use on the man in the house-turned-salon. He stared down at it, thinking only of Daniel's references to people being _reset_. John swallowed hard, taking it from him carefully and holding it up to examine it. "What, exactly... is in this?"

"All the answers you've been looking for," Daniel replied softly, still holding his gaze. "Everything you need to know. All you need to do is inject yourself. It's the only way to truly understand."

 

"I've seen this before," John said, lowering the syringe. "The night after Emma challenged me. I woke up before you returned. I didn't know what had happened, so I went outside. I saw... everything. The Masters. And you. With one of these."

Daniel lowered his head, and the tips of his ears seemed to flush darker. "... yes."

"You said it was the Masters that changed people. Reset them, erased them. But it's you, isn't it? You're the one who changed Emma into someone else. You're the one who tried to reset me, who made me lose my memory."

Daniel shivered visibly, swallowed hard. "Yes," he whispered, and John felt his stomach twist and cramp at the thought.

"Why?!"

Daniel winced at his yell, closing his eyes. "I told you that I desired eternity. That I became The Bride because it was the only way for me to have it, because I cannot duel as you do. It's not... entirely true. I am this because this is what they made me. Because they... they left me no other choice." He looked up at him, eyes bright with tears. "Please believe me, John. I only want to help you."

For a moment John couldn't answer, and the uncertainty of it was agonizing. "I want to," he said finally, but shook his head. "I really do. But I can't yet. You're right, I'm not ready for this. But... I'll hold on to it for safekeeping. Alright?"

Daniel's shoulders slumped, but he nodded, and turned without speaking for the bedroom, for his clothes. John followed, and guilt even stronger than before, and tried futilely to push away the overwhelming feeling that he'd failed him.

~~~

 

When John reached the bottom of the staircase and entered the arena his challenger was already standing in arena. A tall man with light brown hair, his back turned, the duelist uniform perfectly fitted to his broad-shouldered frame and giving him a distinguished air. Then he turned, and John felt his heart stop.

Frank.

"No," he whispered, feeling as though his knees would give way if he tried to take another step.

Daniel was already standing beside Frank, talking to him in words too quiet for John to hear. He looked desperate, and went to lay a hand on Frank's arm, only to have Frank push him, gently but firmly, away.

"Give your champion his rose and his sword," Frank told him, his eyes on John. "I'm not backing down."

John managed to force himself to move as Daniel fetched the sword from the Masters, forced himself to move towards the middle of the arena on legs that didn't feel like they should be able to hold his weight. "I can't beat him," he whispered helpless as Daniel approached him. "He's flounced me every night at the salle. I can't - "

"You can." Daniel pressed the hilt of the Champion's sword into his hand, closing his fingers around it, then fastening the rose to his breast. "You can, I know you can. You just need to believe it. Please, John...."

"I'll do my best," John whispered, lifting his free hand to cup Daniel's cheek gently before he pulled away, retreating back to the Masters.

Above them, the great clock toned midnight. " _Let the duel commence._ "

John drew a slow breath and exhaled, raising his sword to guard and watching Frank carefully. He'd trained with Frank. He'd done this over and over. All he needed to do was to try and remember what he'd learned.

Frank raised a guard as well, then glanced upwards briefly, towards a ceiling many floors above, barely visible in the darkness. Then he looked at John. "There's something you need to know. Before you lost your memories, it was the Bride's fault that you lost to Waleski. He wanted you out of the duels. So when he pinned the rose on your breast he told you that he'd never loved you. And then he stole your memories completely when you lost, so that you wouldn't remember his betrayal."

For a moment John couldn't move, couldn't _think_ past the words that he'd said. Too much of it aligned with his own questions, with things that he was too afraid to ask.

"John!"

Daniel's voice drew his attention, but it took a moment for him to realize that Frank had lunged towards him. It was a moment too late - he brought his sword up a moment too slow, and Frank beat it away easily, a flick of his wrist sending the white rose sailing from his breast to the arena floor.

John's heart stopped. "No," he whispered, the horror of losing overwhelming him. "No!" he cried again, reaching for Frank, and the rose at his breast burst into dozens of pieces, petals raining down through the air.

Above them, the clock chimed.

"A noble effort, Mr. Murdoch," said one of the Masters, stepping past them as the strange chatters above them crescendoed. "And interesting technique. But you have lost. Better luck next time, yes? Now, sleep."

"I can't - " John tried helplessly, but felt himself sway, and the arena around him went dark.

~~~

 

"Mr. Hand, please - I had no intention - "

"We believe you had every intention you influence the duel. We heard you speak to Mr. Bumstead."

Daniel's voice, something in John's mind registered. Daniel, and the one who oversaw the duels, who had put him to sleep. He fought to shake off the darkness, to focus on their voices, their words.

"I was simply - "

"It has been some time since we have shown you who your true masters are. Perhaps it is time for us to remind you... yes?"

John heard a soft, shivering breath. "I - I remember well, Mr. Hand. I will do your will, only your will. Anything you ask. I will not attempt to influence the duels outside of your instruction. I don't - a reminder is not necessary - "

"We disagree, Doctor."

A whimper, more panicked. "Not here. Please not here."

"Here? What a novel idea. Here. Now. Disrobe."

He heard Daniel give a soft, helpless sob, and with a flash of rage John fought against the press of the darkness on his senses. "Not in front of John," he heard Daniel beg. "Please, Masters - "

"How strange that you ask for such a thing when he cannot hear or see you, Doctor. Clearly this is exactly the reminder that you need. These men, these people will never truly be your champions. We own you, as we always have, and always will. As we own them. Now, disrobe. We do not intend to ask again."

"Not in front of John," Daniel begged again, then cried out in pain as the sharp sound of a hard smack echoed through the arena.

Surely things couldn't be what they sounded like. They couldn't mean... and yet Daniel's frightened, choked whimper followed by a cry of pain only allowed John to believe the worst. The anger that bubbled up inside him at the thought such a thing gave him fuel to fight, pushing at the heavy, choking darkness that surrounded him with all of his might, driving at it again and again. He couldn't give up, not when Daniel needed him, not when Daniel - 

He felt his fingers respond, pressing into the cold stone floor, and managed to force open his eyelids, eyes burning and tearing in the light. Then they focused, and he realized that things were far worse than even he could have imagined.

A half dozen of the dark-robed men surrounded his lover, who'd been thrown to his stomach on the ground, coat pushed up and trousers pulled down around his knees. One man knelt above him and held his arms above his head, pinned to the ground. Another - the one he'd called Mr. Hand, the one who'd met John at the gates, had mounted him from behind, hard, deep thrusts jarring his limp body. Limp, because Daniel made no move to fight, head turned to the side against the floor and eyes blank as he stared out across the arena.

The horror of what he was watching stripped John of all his righteous anger, and before he could think to stop it the blackness enveloped him entirely.

~~~

 

When Frank opened his eyes again, he was laying in his own bed with Daniel at the foot, untying his shoes and sliding them off his feet. For a long moment Frank could only look at him, feeling a rush of guilt. "I'm sorry," Frank said quietly, sitting up. "I know this isn't what you wanted. But I couldn't... they were going to involve Leon. I couldn't let that happen."

Daniel smiled, not looking up at him, and shook his head. He stood, taking Frank's shoes to the closet. "Please don't trouble yourself with those thoughts, sir. I'm happy to be your bride again." He looked up at him finally, favoring him with a soft smile. "It was noble of you, to challenge the duels. I've always respected that very much about you."

Was there something too careful about his words, too measured? Was he saying these things simply because it was the reassurance Frank wanted to hear?

"Would you like me to help you undress, sir?" Daniel asked quietly, and Frank shook his head.

"Not this time. I appreciate what you did for me last time, but I don't need that from you anymore. I hope you don't mind if I ask you to sleep on the couch? There's blankets in the linen closet."

"Of course, sir," Daniel replied, expression unreadable, and left.

~~~

 

It was strange to wake up without Leon, Frank thought as he got up the next morning. He was a little disappointed that Leon hadn't come back to his home after the duel, but then again his sweet lover hadn't been happy with his challenge at all. He'd told Leon that he didn't have to feel obligated watch the duel or come back to his apartment afterwards, even hoping that he would. But no matter. He would see him soon enough at work, and would do whatever was necessary to make certain that Leon knew that the Bride meant nothing to him.

He disappeared into the bathroom to shower and shave, and when he'd finished he found Daniel already setting the table in the kitchen for breakfast, setting out eggs and oatmeal for him just as he'd liked him. Frank's apartment was neat and clean, and the only sign he'd slept at all were the pillow and neatly folded blanket sitting on one end of the couch.

Daniel poured Frank a cup of tea, then himself, lowering his head respectfully as he settled in the other chair with a piece of buttered toast and a hardboiled egg. "I'm sorry I wasn't available to shave you, sir," he said, voice soft and low. "Please forgive me. I'll help you dress."

Frank shook his head. "Thank you, but I don't need that. Or want it. And Leon wouldn't be happy about that."

Daniel nodded slowly, his face still carefully unreadable. "Of course, sir. Anything you wish."

He'd have to find some other kind of sleeping arrangement, Frank thought as he made his way into the precinct, Daniel following silently behind. The previous few times he'd been the champion, he'd won the Bride soon after Leon's memories had been reset. Daniel had always helped him win Leon back again, and Leon had been grateful for it. Now he had a feeling Leon would not feel so benevolent.

His thoughts were so centered on Leon that he didn't realize until he reached his office that someone else was sitting in the bullpen desk in front of it - someone taller, darker than Leon. He stopped. "Who the hell are you and why are you in Husselbeck's desk?"

"Sir!" The man jumped to his feet nervously, bowing his head. "I'm sorry Inspector, I didn't see you there. Um - who are you looking for?"

"Husselbeck," Frank repeated, trying to push aside the sudden rush of dread. "Sits here. You new here?" He turned towards the front desk. "Collins! Is Husselbeck in yet?"

The officer at the desk poked his head out. "Husselbeck? Not familiar with him, sir. Is he a new transfer?"

"Sir..." Daniel's voice, soft and tentative, came from the door to his office, and it became completely clear what had happened.

"Inside. Now!" He snapped, following Daniel into his office and shutting the door behind them. Then he grabbed the man by the lapels, slamming him up against the wall. "Where is he! What have you done to him!"

"Stop!" Daniel gasped, trying to push Frank's hands away from his chest. "Frank, stop - please - "

"Your mind tricks won't work on me," Frank spat, knocking his hands away and restraining him more effectively with an arm across his throat. "Tell me where he is!"

"I don't - know! I - " 

"They said he's be safe if I fought, they said - "

"He is safe!" Daniel squeaked out, and half collapsed as Frank pulled back, clutching his chest and gasping for breath. "I don't -- know where he is," he wheezed. "I swear it. If that is what they -- promised you. Then he is safe. But I cannot guarantee that he is not... changed."

Of course. Of course, how could he have been so stupid to assume they would do as he asked! Or rather.... A helpless, broken laugh bubbled up from his lips. "They told me I had to win, or they'd make him fight again. I told them that if I won... that they had to guarantee he would never have to challenge again. Jesus."

Daniel managed to straighten, smoothing down the lapels of his shirt. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't know. And I don't know where he... has gone. I only make the imprints. He could be one of dozens. I can help you track them down, if that is what you want. But...."

But Leon wouldn't remember. He wouldn't be Leon anymore. And even if Frank found him... who was to say that the Masters wouldn't pull him back into the duels yet again?

How could he keep doing this without Leon? But what on earth could he do?

For a long moment he stared at Daniel, trying to weigh his options. When Daniel opened his mouth he held up a hand to stop him. "Don't say anything else," he said, then drew his pistol from its holster, ignoring Daniel's sharp intake of breath. "I don't intend to use this, but I will if your friends show up, or if you try to signal them in any way," he said, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket to hide the pistol. "Now start walking. Leave the precinct quietly. Stay in front of me."

Daniel gave a small, frightened nod. "Where are we going?"

"We're going back to John Murdoch," Frank said simply. "And you'd better hope for all our sakes that he hasn't been reset."

~~~


	14. Soi

For a long time on waking John lay on the bed fully clothed, staring into the darkness of his empty apartment, listening to the silence.

He was alone.

Eventually he pulled himself out of bed, shedding half his clothes and not caring about the others. There was a bottle of whiskey in the top cupboard, and he broke the seal, taking a long gulp.

He'd lost. _He'd lost Daniel._

Nothing else really mattered anymore.

~~~

At some point he'd fallen asleep on the couch. He woke up with one hand on the floor, uncomfortably wet and sticky. The remains of the whiskey, he realized, glancing down at the floor with a groan.

The banging that had woken him came again, coming from the door. "Come on, Murdoch, I know you're in there!"

Bumstead. John groaned, and opened his mouth to yell back. Then he heard another voice.

"Stop, please. I have a key..."

_Daniel._

Head pounding, John picked himself up off the couch and stumbled up the steps to the front door, flicking the lock and opening it before Frank could knock again, and squinted out in the sudden brightness from the outside hallway.

Daniel stood in front, key raised towards the door. He gave a soft, horrified moan. "John...."

"Jesus Christ, you're a mess," Frank growled, and herded them both inside. "Daniel, make him some coffee."

"Of course, sir." Daniel said softly, and suddenly his subservience made anger flare in John's chest.

"I can make my own goddamn coffee," he growled, pushing past them into the kitchen and going for the grounds. "Why the hell are you here, Frank? You won. I'm out."

Frank pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat. "At least you can still remember that."

John punched the button on the coffee machine. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Hand said that you lost, right? Well, you're still here. You still remember. So sober up and get it together. I need your help."

"I doubt you need my help for anything," John grumbled, pulling a coffee mug from the sink and rinsing it out. "You have the Bride now, don't you? Ask him, whatever it is. Or ask Leon."

There was silence, and John turned to find Frank sitting very still, a righteous anger in his eyes more intense than anything John had ever seen in him before.

"Leon has been changed," Daniel said softly, staring down at the table. "I don't know where - "

"That doesn't matter." Frank cut him off with a growl. "I'm not going after him until I can make sure he won't get dragged back into this bullshit. That's what I need you for."

John snorted, dumping coffee in his mug, finally taking a seat with them, avoiding Daniel's gaze. "Everything I know is this bullshit. The only clue I had to who I was has been Changed too."

"Walenski. He said he'd found a way out."

John felt himself wince, and hid it behind his mug, taking a long drink despite the coffee still being too hot. "And you and I both saw how well that ended."

"Well, unless he had aspirations for a murder suicide he must have had another plan for the Bride. Did he say anything else to you? Anything at all?"

John tried to think back to meeting Walenski at the train station. He shook his head slowly. "Just about the Masters. How they were Changing people. More than just for the duels. And that he'd found a way out. Then he challenged me." John frowned, trying to go over the handful of moments in his mind. "We were... in a station on the green line, near where the express splits off to go..." he stopped. "Shell Beach. Of course. It has to be Shell Beach."

Frank's eyebrows knit together. "... the vacation destination?"

"Yeah. You know how to get there?"

"Of course. You just go to the... "

Frank stopped, and John leaned forward in his seat. "Where? Where do you go?"

 

Frank shook his head. "Give me a second, will you?"

"You can't remember, can you? Don't you think that's kind of odd? Let me tell you, Frank. I tried to get out there, that night I found Walenski. Every time I got on a train to Shell Beach I ended up going the complete opposite direction. I think there's a reason nobody knows how to get there. And I think it's because he - " John flicked a finger towards Daniel's silent form, "- erased those memories in all of us."

He looked at Daniel finally, who was sitting as if to make himself take up as little space in the apartment as possible. He lowered his gaze as Frank turned to look at him as well. "There... may perhaps be some truth in that," he admitted, still not raising his eyes.

Frank caught the bottom of his chin with his fingers, raising it to look him in the eye. "You can take us there, then. Can't you?"

"You may not like what you find there."

"I think I'm willing to take my chances." Frank looked back to John. "Go wash up, you're coming with us. We should be able to get there before they shut the city down at midnight."

"Mmm." John drained his coffee and stood. Then he looked to the small clock on the kitchen stove, confused. A quarter to eight. "Wait... is that PM? What happened to the day?" He couldn't have slept for that long... could he?

Frank snorted. "A bottle of whiskey happened by the looks of it. Go on."

John tried to think through it while he washed, splashing cold water over his face and running wet fingers through his hair. He was rarely up during the day; the duels were at midnight, and afterwards he was too keyed up to sleep immediately. Training with Frank meant waiting until he got off work at the night shift, then going home and letting Daniel take care of him. Was it odd, that they'd never stayed up and seen the sunrise? He'd always assumed that his nocturnal lifestyle was something that carried over from before he'd lost his memories, that he must have experienced daytime before that. But what if that had never been the case?

He resolved to ask Frank his thoughts, but when he returned to the main room after dressing he found Frank pouring over a map to the city laid out on his table, mapping a route with Daniel, and the thought of finally finding Shell Beach pushed it from his mind.

~~~

The closer they got to the outskirts of the city the more run-down things appeared to be - buildings with broken glass, burnt-out streetlamps and abandoned cars, garbage built up around their wheels. Something about it made the hair on the back of John's neck stand up.

Frank rolled to a stop as the road ended, fencing blocking off the edge where a bridge should have been. He looked back to Daniel. "Where now?"

"A boat. There are stairs down to the river on the right."

"We're not supposed to be here, are we?" John asked as they got out of the car, turning the collar of his coat up against the chill coming off the river. "No-one's supposed to want to leave the city. Your imprints are designed to keep us from it. Like a prison."

He didn't miss the way Daniel's shoulders sagged at his words. "In a way," he said softly, starting away from the car. "This way, please."

The rowboat Daniel lead them to was, thankfully, in far better condition than the city around them. Frank nudged Daniel towards the back seat, then took the middle and the oars, untying the boat from the dock and pushing them off into the gentle current. "I think it's time you gave us some answers, Doctor. Give us the whole story. No more of these half truths."

Daniel nodded, watching them both. "We call them the Masters, because this is their city. They abducted us and brought us here. This city, everyone in it, is their... experiment, I suppose. They're not like us, as I'm certain you must have guessed. They share one group mind, one will, one purpose. But they're dying. Their race is on the brink of extinction. They think we can save them. That's why they change people, why they duels. They're trying to divine what makes us unique, to understand what drives us, what motivates us. Everyone changes except the few who have been chosen to help with their manipulations. Right now, John, their focus is on you."

John shook his head. "Why? Because I forgot everything?"

Daniel nodded. "The last time you.. lost, you resisted my attempt to reset you. It became clear that you had begun to develop their ability to Tune, John. How they change things, how they control everything here, even the sun. They have an aversion to light and water. That's why it's always dark."

"Jesus," Frank muttered, and John felt a small thrill at having been right.

John thought back to their conversation before his duel with Frank, to the syringe still hidden in his bedroom in the apartment. Should he have trusted Daniel then? But how could it have helped him defeat Frank? "You said that they forced you to help them," he started, voice trailing off as a flicker of memory came back to him. Daniel's voice, begging, crying out. A flash of an image of him pinned to the floor, the dark robed figures surrounding him. One on top of him. John's stomach churned, sickened. Surely that had been only a nightmare?

"They don't understand us well enough to change our memories," Daniel was answering already, taking off his glasses and pulling out a handkerchief to clean them. "This is why they needed the Bride. Someone who could stay close to the subject of their experiment, observe directly. Someone who understood how the mind works. Who could create new identities that would motivate us without question, such as your wife's affair. They allowed me to keep those skills when they brought us here." His lips twisted, and for the first time John saw a flash of unmistakable hatred on the man's face. "They made me delete everything else. This is all that I am, now. We're all... lost. Perhaps that is why the promise of gaining Eternity is so... alluring." 

He shook his head slightly, as if to shake away the introspection, and put his glasses back on. Then he reached out to touch Frank's hand on the oar, to motion him towards an approaching pier. "Tie up here, please, Sir."

If John had thought the edge of the city was run down before, the path Daniel lead them on was even stranger. _Unfinished_ his mind supplied as they moved down a twisting alleyway, around piles of bricks and up twisting staircases, the buildings and doorways slanted at strange angles. Finally they saw a door up ahead, and Frank pushed past them to reach it, shoving it open, light spilling through from beyond.

For a moment John saw blue, and brightness. The beach. Then his eyes adjusted, and he realized he was staring at only a billboard. The artwork from the postcard he'd seen, the blond woman in the white and red polkadots now towering over him. He approached the billboard slowly, half disbelieving, reaching out to press his hand against paper that felt brittle with age.

"There is no ocean, John," Daniel said softly. "There is nothing beyond the city. This is... the end of it."

"There's gotta be something after this," Frank growled, and before John could react he was tearing at the paper, pulling it away to reveal the brick underneath, then catching up a heavy pipe from the rubble nearby and slamming it into the brick.

"No!" Daniel sounded terrified, but for the moment John didn't care. Frank was right. A dead end meant nothing. He grabbed up another pipe to help them, ignoring Daniel's pleas, tearing at the brick with his hands as it crumbled and broke.

He needed to get through, to see what was beyond. And then suddenly, just like in the arena, he felt something _activate_ , and the bricks were crumbling, tumbling out into the darkness beyond. John grabbed hold of Frank's shoulder before he could fall too.

Beyond the wall was darkness, unending darkness. For a moment John couldn't process what he was seeing. Because the bricks he'd broken were falling _out_ , not down, and beyond them in the darkness were tiny pinpricks of light. 

Stars. Space.

 _There is nothing beyond the city,_ Daniel had said, and with a terrible finality John understood it all. Why Walenski had been doomed to fail. Why Daniel had never tried to escape his fate as The Bride. _There was no-where to escape to._

"And now you know the truth."

John whirled around to find a group of Masters at the doorway to the room. The ones who attended them at the duels. The ones who'd hurt Daniel. He felt a surge of rage, lifting his pipe.

"Challenge me!" Frank ordered him, and John faltered before he could lunge forward.

"What?"

 

Frank grabbed his arm. "Challenge me. Quickly!"

"I - I challenge you to a duel."

"Your challenge to the Champion is recognized!" Daniel gasped quickly, moving to place himself in front of Mr. Hand. "It's recognized," he repeated. "The duels must move forward. They must."

The man - who was hardly a man at all, John now realized with a sick sense of horror, tilted his head and regarded Daniel. "The duels must move forward," it agreed. "Though you will be held to account for bringing them here, Doctor."

For a brief second Daniel's expression crumpled into despair. Then he schooled it away, carefully calm despite the roughness in his voice. "Of course."

A surge of anger bubbled up inside him, and John started for him. "Don't hurt him!" he cried, but the black-robed being merely smirked.

"You will sleep," he said, and though John tried to cling to his anger, tried to resist, he felt the blackness close around him. "Now."

~~~

 

The space around him was cold when John opened his eyes, and far too familiar, the strange, clicking conversation of the Masters far overhead. Not like us, Daniel had said. How had he not realized that they weren't even _human?_

Perhaps he had, though. Perhaps it was only part of their programming not to question it.

He was already dressed in a duelist coat and slacks, he realized as he pushed himself up, slowly getting to his feet. As was Frank, on the other side of the arena. John watched Daniel limp towards him to fasten the rose on his breast. Was it his imagination, or did he move more stiffly, more slowly than usual?

He moved to meet Daniel himself, both angry and miserable at once for his own inability to protect him. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly, pressing on when Daniel's eyes flicked to his in surprise. "Did they... hurt you?"

For a brief second Daniel froze, rose in hand. Then he gave a soft sigh, moving to pin it to his breast. "... no more than usual."

John must have shown some outward sign of rage at his thought, for Daniel placed a hand on his chest, gentle but warning. "That doesn't matter now, John. You must fight."

John took a slow breath, then nodded. "I'll win you back. Somehow." Then it occurred to him that he hadn't been in the arena as a challenger since the first time he'd challenged Walenki. "...I don't have a sword." 

"Of course you do." Daniel looked up at him calmly over the rims of his glasses. "You trust that I want you to win, yes?"

John nodded, and Daniel gave him a small smile before continuing. "Give me your hand, John. Close your eyes. Listen to me."

He could listen to that voice forever, John found himself thinking, as he felt Daniel's hands cradle his own, curling his fingers towards his palm. 

"You remember the weight of the Champion's sword," he said quietly. "You remember wielding that power. How it felt. The power that you needed to win, to... to protect me. That's what you need right now, John. The weight of the sword in your palm, where it belongs. Thick and cold and heavy and strong. You need that in your hand, right now. And if you need it, you can have it."

It was the certainty in Daniel's voice, more than anything else, that made John believe it. That made him feel that strange, peculiar rush of power. There was a distinctness to it that he hadn't noticed before when he'd done it in the thick of a duel or at the edge of the city with Frank. It felt like places inside him that he wasn't aware of before were waking up. Opening."

Then the the weight of the sword in his hand was real, and for a brief, astounding moment, the arena was completely silent.

John opened his eyes just as Daniel pulled away from him, favoring him with a soft, proud smile. It warmed him to the tip of his toes.

He had to beat Frank. Somehow.

_"Let the duel commence."_

At the chime of the clock, John's heart started beating faster. He raised his sword to guard, watching Frank closely.

Frank mirrored his position, then, in one fluid motion, extended his arm out to flourish the sword into a salute, then drop it down against his side, the flat of the blade resting against his right shoulder. He squared off his shoulders, holding John's gaze. "Do it."

John felt his hand drop, felt his stance falter. "What?"

"Do it," Frank repeated, then turned his gaze back to the group of the Masters that stood behind Daniel, ever watching. "I quit. Reset me. I won't do this for you anymore."

"Frank - " John started, and the other man shot him a glare.

"Do it. I won't do it this without him, and I won't bring him back into it. This is the only way."

"Even if you forget him?" John whispered, and watched Frank's jaw clench.

"Do it!" He barked. "Do it before I rip this fucking thing off my chest myself!"

John stepped forward, and training took over, a scatter of rose petals following the arc of his sword as the rose tumbled to the arena floor.

Frank smiled, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Thank you," he murmured. "Now challenge them. You're strong enough. As long as you have the Bride you can do anything."

_... challenge the masters?_

John looked towards them, to the leader striding forward. The one who'd hurt Daniel.

Suddenly the decision was easy.

"I challenge you to a duel. You specifically. Mr. Hand. I challenge you for the freedom of the Bride. I win and you let us both go free. You don't change us, you don't reset us, you don't ever try to touch him again!"

Mr. Hand tilted his head slightly, regarding him, calculating, and somehow... amused? "Strong words, Mr. Murdoch. We will take your challenge. And when we lose you will become ours to do with what we wish, yes? But not tonight. Now, you _sleep._ "

~~~


	15. Revolution

John awoke on his bed in his shirtsleeves, Daniel curled against his side. John curled into him before conscious thought kicked in, drawing him closer, finding Daniel's mouth with his own. He needed to be close to him, needed to touch him, stroking his hands over his flanks and groaning at the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton undershirt. 

Daniel arched closer to him with a moan, warm and willing. John could feel him grow hard as rocked up against him eagerly, as John's own arousal grew. Despite his own uncertainties, despite all his questions from everything Frank had said, the only thing that mattered for the moment was that Daniel was back in his arms, offering himself with the same passion he always had.

Daniel worked a hand between them, tugging at John's slacks and boxers until he could wrap his fingers around his cock. "Oh god yes, please, John..."

John groaned, kissing him harder, rocking up into the grip of his fingers. Then, with wakefulness, the details of his memories came back, and he pulled from Daniel's kiss, horrified. "... they hurt you."

Daniel froze, then lowered his eyes. "... I'm fine, John."

Was he? How could he be? John moved one hand to stroke his fingertips along his jaw, feeling Daniel shiver under the touch. "I could hear them, after I lost to Frank. I could hear you begging. I managed to open my eyes. I saw...."

"Don't," Daniel whispered, closing his eyes tight, lashes trembling against his cheek.

John gave a low moan of dismay, holding him tight, pressing his lips to his forehead. "... that's how they punish you. God, why?"

"Why?" Daniel gave a soft, hard laugh, drawing back to look at him. "I made the mistake, early on in the duels, of pointing out that the Champion would see any marks they left on me. I thought it would help me." Daniel's mouth shifted like he was trying very hard to smile, failing. "They simply... learned what would not leave a mark."

 _I'll kill him for it,_ John wanted to say. _I'll defeat him tonight. I'll save you._ But none of it seemed right. "I'm sorry," he murmured finally.

Daniel shook his head. "It's not about hurting me," he said quietly, gaze focused on his shoulder. "Not intentionally, anyway. And it's not about their pleasure. They don't feel it the way we do. It's... about mine. About controlling me. Owning me. That's why...." 

"God," John whispered, horrified, and Daniel shook his head, giving a soft sob as he kissed him.

"I didn't want you to know," he whispered. "I didn't want it to change how we are together. I need you, John. The way you make me feel... I need to be with you, I need to feel real passion with you. I need to feel your passion. Please...."

John kissed him, trying to process what he was saying. How could he shake off such a thing? And as much as Daniel claimed he needed it, how could he make love to him when he was obviously still injured?

"I do love you," he murmured, reaching down to undo his pants and kissing away Daniel's soft sob of relief as he eased them down over his hips. "That hasn't changed, Daniel. It doesn't matter if what Frank said is true or not. I still love you."

Daniel bit his lip on a whimper. "I..."

John shook his head, helping him get the rest of his clothes off. "It doesn't matter," he said again. Daniel's cock felt good in his hand, heavy and thick. "I still want to be here. Will you let me have my way with you?"

"Always," his lover breathed, arching up into his touch and tugging at John's slacks. "God, John..."

John gave an approving hum, sitting up long enough to pull his shirt off. Then he slid down, pressing a kiss to the softness of his stomach, then nuzzling down the length of his cock to suck at the base. He heard Daniel draw a shuddering breath, fingers stroking through his hair, moaning as John licked up the underside. "Oh god... John, you don't have to...."

"I thought you said I could have my way with you," John reminded him, looking up at him, dragging his lips over the head of his cock as he spoke. "Or do you want me to stop?" He sucked gently at the tip and groaned at the taste of his arousal, at the way he could feel Daniel tense under him, arching in pleasure. He took him in his mouth, reveling in the weight of his cock against his tongue, the satisfying girth as he let his lips slide down his shaft.

"I... n-no," his lover stammered, and John gave a pleased hum around him. Then he closed his eyes and let himself stop thinking about everything but the pleasure of the moment. What he wanted most was this - Daniel, being close to Daniel. Trying to find the best ways to make him whimper and gasp, the feeling of his fingers in John's hair, tightening ever so pleasurably when John found just the right way to please him.

He wanted Daniel to feel good, he thought, stroking his free hand over his hip. To stop feeling fear and pain, if only for a few moments. He wanted to do that for him, to give that to him, and for a few blissful moments that focus made him forget about everything else himself, too.

Bringing Daniel to climax felt more triumphant than any victory. Wonderfully overwhelmed with his taste and scent, he coaxed him through each shiver of pleasure, finally pulling back and cuddling close. "I love you," he murmured, as Daniel's fingers stroked his passion higher, and Daniel stole his gasps of pleasure with kisses, sweet and adoring, until John had joined him in pleasure.

"What Frank said..." Daniel started, and John cut his words off with a kiss.

"It doesn't matter, darling."

Daniel shook his head. "He was right," he murmured. "But.. it wasn't true, John. I'm sorry. I know it hurt you. I knew it would. That's why I did it."

Warm and relaxed in the aftermath of orgasm, it was hard to feel anything but good. John stroked a strand of gold back from Daniel's forehead, trying to imagine it. "Why?"

Daniel gave a soft, soundless laugh, staring at a point on his shoulder. He was silent for a long moment. "I seduced you, you know. The first time you won me. Emma wasn't even in the picture, then, your memories of marriage came in a later reset. I seduced you, because I knew that if you cared for me that you'd fight harder. It was a common tactic. I didn't expect...." his voice trailed off, and he looked up, fingers moving to trace the line of his jaw.

"That I'd love you?" John suggested.

Daniel shook his head, expression calm and somehow... sad. "That was irrelevant. But I didn't expect... to care so much about you." 

It hadn't escaped John that despite how many times Daniel had pledged his devotion, any admission of _emotion_ had been conspicuously absent. He felt his heart twist at the words. "Is that such a bad thing?" he whispered, and Daniel gave a soft, sad smile. 

"Being the Champion is toxic," he murmured. "It means being ever-manipulated, pushed towards an end that even I don't know. And then I, being close to you, I began to see... you were starting to develop their abilities. I knew how dangerous it would be to you. So... knowing that Walenski was already beginning to see through the resets... I tried to use him to distract them. I thought... " He stopped, lips pressed tightly together, and John watched his eyes grow bright. "I thought I could keep you safe."

"Shhh...." John pressed a kiss to his forehead, then tugged his glasses off gently and set them aside, kissing the bridge of his nose, his eyelids. "I'll keep you safe now. I'll win tonight, I promise. I'll take you away from this."

He felt Daniel shiver in his arms as he gave a soundless, helpless laugh. "And what then?"

"Then... then anything we want. We'll be free."

Daniel curled closer, exhaling long as he nestled his face into the crook of his neck. "... do you still have the syringe that I gave you?"

The reminder of it made John feel strangely uneasy. "Yes."

Daniel nodded slightly, his voice smaller. "... will you use it?"

John tried to consider it, to set aside emotion and weigh the risk. "... to give myself back the memories I was supposed to have?"

"To give you the memories you need. That's all. I swear it."

John swallowed, trying to imagine what it would be like, what that would entail. Driving the syringe into his brain like he'd seen Daniel do in the salon. Like he'd inevitably done to Frank tonight. Then he pulled back to look at him.

"I trust you," he said softly. "I do. But I can't take any chances. Who I am right now... this is who I need to be to win. I can't risk that changing. You understand that, don't you?"

Daniel sighed, but nodded. "... will you at least carry it with you? For my sake?"

"I promise," John murmured, and kissed him.

~~~

 

In the still hours of the morning, John awoke, cold.

Alone.

Something was wrong. He knew it, somehow, fear and anxiety squeezing his heart. And Daniel was gone. He threw back the covers, finding pants on the floor and pulling on an undershirt as he raced for the door.

He couldn't say what drew him _up_ instead of down, what lead him out the door to the roof. But when he pushed past the metal door the reason for his anxiety was all too clear; the figure of his lover sat, still and small in his powder blue pajamas, on the edge of the roof facing the street. Panic spiked through him, hot and cold at once. "Daniel!"

His lover jerked tense, looking back at him over his shoulder. Up so high, the breeze of the city whipped at his hair. "John. I'm sorry...."

In a split second John was across the roof - too fast, perhaps, but he didn't have time to think on the details. Wrapping his arms around Daniel he pulled him back against his chest, back away from danger. "What are you doing?" he cried, too loud, too scared to be gentle. "What the hell are you doing?"

His lover gave a sob, struggled weakly against him. "It's no use. It's no use, John, can't you see?"

"I'll free you," John whispered. "I promise. Come inside. Please...."

"I'll never be free! They'll never let me go, John, it's no use, it's...." The cry that escaped his lips in return was like nothing John had ever heard before, broken and desperate. Daniel's fingers grabbed at his arms as if to pull himself free, but then dug in, clenching tightly. He curled into himself, form shaking with sobs, almost as if to pull them both over the edge at once, together.

"I'm sorry, John," he gasped, but didn't resist as John pulled him back, twisting to pull him back over the ledge to safety. Then John picked him up, cradling him in his arms and carrying him back inside with surprising ease, back to bed, holding Daniel close as he cried quietly, until they both fell asleep.

When John finally woke again, it was to Daniel's mouth on his cock, expertly awakening his arousal. Daniel's kisses were desperate as he reached over John for the lube. "Please don't ask me to stop," he whispered, and mounted his hips, impaling himself on John's cock with just as much desperation. Despite his worry for his lover's well-being, Daniel's passion was undeniable, and John gave himself over to it without questioning him. After seeing Daniel on the ledge he needed it, too.

They didn't mention the roof.

He gave in again later in the kitchen when Daniel straddled his chair, and again when Daniel pulled him close with less than two hours until midnight. It was hard to find reasons not to when he just wanted to be close to him, taking him to bed, blanketing him with his body as he moved in him, slow and deep. Daniel's fingers clenched in his hair, holding John's mouth to trembling kisses. "I love you," he whispered finally, choking back a sob as if it hurt to say so. "I love you...."

"My Daniel," John breathed, sealing the words with a kiss. "My darling. My love."

"Will you wait for me?" he asked as they finally dressed. "Can we go to the arena together?"

Daniel hesitated, vest half buttoned, then nodded slowly. He crossed the room to take both his hands, leaning up to kiss him, soft and lingering.

"Thank you."

Daniel nodded again, pulling back to look up at him. "There's still time, you know," he said softly. "You can still change your mind."

John shook his head, and in response crossed to the dresser, taking the syringe from the drawer where he'd left it and showing it to Daniel before slipping it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

Daniel smiled, soft and sweet.

It felt good, approaching the arena with Daniel by his side, their fingers twined together. It felt... powerful. This was the place he needed to be in, he realized. How he needed to feel. To win.

The feeling only grew as he engaged his ring with the lock to grant them access to the arena, as he kept pace with Daniel down the stairs, slow and steady to match his uneven gait. As he felt his clothes change, like he was used to, into the smart, fitted duelists uniform. Underneath, the weight of Daniel's syringe still sat securely in his breast pocket.

There were more of the Masters on the floor of the arena this time, enough to nearly line the walls. The oldest stood at the far end, looking out towards them, John's opponent a few feet in front of him, sword in hand and rose on the breast of his long dark coat. Behind him, posse held Daniel's bag.

Suddenly the last thing John wanted was to see Daniel kneeling to them again, for any reason. He tightened his fingers on Daniel's hand to stop him, then looked down at his free hand, bringing his mind back to the feel of the sword. To how Daniel's words had helped him bring it into being, to the power it represented. Freedom.

Creating it again was surprisingly easy.

"You're ready," Daniel murmured at his side, reaching up to pin the rose to his chest, then brushing his cheek.

John smiled and stepped forward, raising his sword in guard, letting his voice fill the arena. "Let the Duel commence."

~~~


	16. Daniel Schreber

"Let the duel commence!" Standing at the edge of the arena, the with the support and security of Daniel's form behind him, John felt a rush of energy flow him. The sword he had summoned - no, _created_ \- he held at guard before him, staring down the legion of pale-faced men across from him. One in particular.

Mr. Hand. Who, instead of approaching him, stood still, sword held casually at his side. "Mr. Murdoch. How eagerly we have watched you progress, yes. There is no need for this. You have already won."

John gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, heart beating faster. "...won?"

"Yes. The answers you sought. You have them, do you not? You understand the nature of this world. Our world. Now all you have to do is claim the power of Eternity."

Everything about his words screamed at John to be wary. "And just how do I do that?"

"You take your place as a Master of the city. These powers you have gained. They mark you as one of us, yes? We can unlock them for you, and anything you wish can be yours. Freedom. Emma. A lifetime of missing memory. Even the reality of Shell Beach."

For a brief second John faltered. That was what had started this, wasn't it? Waking up with no recollection of who he was. Emma, gone. The brief flashes of memory that remained, those flashes of warmth and happiness... could there really be more than that? "And what about Daniel?"

"You will no longer feel a requirement for the Bride when the true extent of your powers have been unlocked, Mr. Murdoch. He is a tool, nothing more. It is something he has surely realized. He is not your ally. Have you not asked yourself why he has made no move to help you unlock your abilities when he could help you create that sword in your hand so easily? The Bride is superfluous." 

The reality of his words struck John like a blow. Did Daniel really understand how to unlock his powers? It was easy to remember how Daniel had told him that the goal of seducing John had been to influence him. Was it also to distract him?

He straightened out his guard, pushing the thought aside. "I don't care. Whatever you're offering me is bullshit. I'm going to protect him."

The beings behind him turned to each other at his words, chittering, watching him. But Mr. Hand just gave a single, barked laugh.

"How deep his hooks are inside you, Mr. Murdoch! The Bride does not care for or need your protection. He is here of his own will, yes?"

John turned back to look at him, finding Daniel's expression conflicted, miserable. 

"I..." he started slowly, then shook his head. "I can't...."

"We think you remember all too well, Doctor." Mr. Hand's lips curled up into a sneer. "We made sure to leave a piece of that with you. How you begged us to let you join us. How you demonstrated the extent of your abilities, convinced us of their value. How much more effectively we could master this city though owning the minds of its people."

John watched Daniel shrink in on himself, unable to meet his gaze. He felt a rush of anger. "You think that matters to me? It doesn't. He's as much a victim in this as the rest of us, you torment him worse than any of us! You think that manipulating our memories and testing our drive and willpower will give you the key to understanding us? Well, you're looking in the wrong place! Eternity and power are selfish! They're meaningless without the people we love!"

Mr. Hand smirked, and without waiting for him to speak again, John rushed forward, launching his offense, trying to find an opening as the man swung and parried expertly.

"It seems you have made your decision. Since you will not join us, we have no use for you. We will destroy you, Mr. Murdoch."

"I'm not letting you touch him again!"

"Interesting how you think that he would be happy with you, Mr. Murdoch." Mr. Hand spoke as though the duel was no effort at all. "Where would you take him, if we gave you this freedom you ask for? This city is ours, we made it. We built on stolen memories. You could never be satisfied living as a mere human now that you understand this. Now that you have tasted true power, yes?"

John knocked aside his blade, lunging for his rose, cursing as Mr. Hand managed to twist aside at the last moment. "That's not true!"

"You must know the Bride also could never be satisfied with that. With you. You could never be enough for him, Mr. Murdoch. Not after all he has seen." Suddenly he turned, launching the offensive with a flurry of strikes, and it was all John could do to keep up.

"No matter what you do, he will return to us," Mr. Hand continued, driving him back. "He is ours because he wants to be. No champion will ever change that, let alone you." Mr. Hand's blade twisted against his, too fast, too forceful to react. Suddenly John's sword was being forced from his hand, knocked from his fingers with such strength that his grip failed, and the metal blade clattered and slid across the stone, clanging to a stop at Daniel's feet.

John glanced over to it desperately as Mr Hand stepped back, pulling back his sword. He needed the blade, he needed it in his hand, but while he could see the blade wobble on the ground, it didn't move any closer. Why wouldn't his powers work? "Please - " he gasped, bringing his arms up to shield himself. "Please don't - !"

"Why should we spare you, Mr. Murdoch? You have denied our offer. You have failed. You have no further use to us, yes?"

He swung, and John dropped to dodge it, rolling to the stone and desperately pulling himself back up. He ran for the sword at Daniel's feet, grabbing it up again, holding it at guard. The thought of dying was terrifying, but worse than that was the knowledge that he'd be leaving Daniel alone again, leaving him to the mercy of these terrible beings.... "I won't let you keep hurting him. I won't let you have him!"

Mr. Hand opened his mouth to speak, but then his gaze shifted to something behind John, gaze hardening. "What are you - "

With a crack of incredible pain, John felt something connect with the side of his head, knocking him sprawling, the world spinning around him. He gasped, trying to cling to consciousness, forcing his gaze to focus, forcing himself to look up.

Daniel, standing over him, expressionless, the bulk of his bag in his hand. He brought the heel of his shoe down on the back of John's hand, pain lancing through him, and John felt himself loose his grip on the sword, heard Daniel kick it away.

"Daniel," he gasped, and his lover gazed down at him, sorrow in his gaze.

"I'm sorry, John. He's right. I chose this. You could never be enough for me."

"Dan - Daniel...."

"You could never save me," he said softly, as he leaned down and plucked the rose from John's breast. "You're only human."

Above him, the clock chimed. The duel was over.

"And now, Mr. Murdoch, you _sleep_ ," said Mr Hand, and everything around him went black.

~~~

 

John awoke bound and helpless, the chatter of the Masters heated around him, mixed with human words, hissed voices. He blinked away the blur from his vision and realized he was tied on his back to some kind of table, arms and legs outstretched. Helpless.

Daniel stood above him, fastening some kind of strap over his head to keep him immobile. "Don't do this," John whispered. "I can - I can still take you away from this. We can live a normal life. We can be free...."

Daniel glanced away, a long, soft breath leaving his lips. "I'm sorry, John. I gave up my right to that a long time ago. Being what I am... I can never go back."

"But you can," John murmured urgently. "Or at least you can move forward. I know you can. Please...."

He watched Daniel's eyes close, glittering even in the low light. "You don't understand, John. Everyone who's known about my involvement in this... they've either hated me, or tried to own me. Often... both. They could never forgive me for this. For what I've done for them for so long... for what I've done to everyone in this city...."

"I do," John breathed. "I swear it. Even this. Even hitting me. I forgive you. Because you've suffered worse than any of us, haven't you? I thought I'd lost everything when I lost you to Frank. But it's nothing compared to how you've suffered. What you lose, time and time again."

He watched Daniel swallow, his low murmur rough, helpless. "I'm sorry, John. You've deserved so much better than I. Goodbye."

"I'll find you again," John whispered desperately, and watched his lover's eyes fly open, stare down at him, conflicted. "I know you have to reset me. It doesn't matter. I'll find you again, somehow. I won't forget you. I could never forget you. I'll fight for you no matter how many times it takes."

"You don't understand," Daniel whispered. "This isn't..."

"The time has come," one of the Masters boomed, drowning out, silencing the others. "The duels are of no use to us now. We have found our answer. It is time to become one with John Murdoch."

"They're going to make you like them," Daniel said, fraught stricken with misery, and John's heart stopped.

"Imprint, Doctor." John saw a hand extended over him, handing Daniel a syringe far different from his own, filled with a black, oozing concoction. He watched his lover take it, watched a single tear wind down his cheek.

"It doesn't matter," John forced himself to whisper. He was going to die, or worse. He couldn't change that now. But if he could do one last thing, one small thing to take some of the helplessness from his eyes. "I forgive you. For this, too. Because it doesn't matter what I am. I'll still be with you, Daniel. I love you. That's all I need to be happy."

For the eternity between heartbeats Daniel stared down at him, frozen, stricken, the Masters' black syringe in his hands. Then suddenly he grabbed for the front of John's coat, tearing it open, and before John could process what was happening he'd pulled the syringe from his breast pocket, the needle driving into his skull in a sharp shock of pain.

Daniel pulled the trigger.

~~~

 

_Warmth surrounds him. Sunshine. Someone's hand on his hair._

_Daniel._

_"I'm sorry," he says, kneeling in front of him, cradling John's hands between his. They look so big, but it's John's hands that are small. A childhood he's never known. "I'm sorry," Daniel says again. "When I made this syringe, I hoped it wouldn't come to this. You've been so kind to me, John. And in return I've used you. I've taken advantage of your kindness, manipulated you into fighting for me. And now I'm going to turn you into a weapon. I'm going to give you all of the power you need and turn you loose on the world that has hurt me. I don't expect you to forgive me for it. But if we have reached the point where you have chosen to use this, then please take small comfort in knowing that it is necessary."_

_I fought for you by choice, John wants to say. I wanted to protect you. But his memories are writing themselves now, taking his attention with them._

_His childhood is filled with Daniel, kind and patient. The low, soothing tones of his words, speaking of power. Guiding him to be able to _feel_ the world around him, to be able to change it. To affect the form of matter, to bend it to his will. To _create_._

_"I'm sorry," Daniel whispers. He's smaller, now, or John is bigger, older. Daniel's fingers are gentle on his face. "I've stolen so much from you. I've reset you so many times. And now I'm taking even this from you. Your childhood will always be only this. Training. Tuning. I wish I could give you more. But you must concentrate. If you are to survive, you must learn everything."_

_He remembers charts and schematics, diagrams. A great machine. "This will fuel your power," Daniel says. "And it will be their downfall. You must take control of it. It's the only way you can be stronger than them. Be safe from them."_

_Then, suddenly, he's leaning over a rail in the darkness, looking across a great void to where the same machine is installed in reality, moving and changing. His eyes move over every inch of it. Faintly he hears the chatter of the strangers, hears the chiming of the clock. He looks on and begins to understand how it's put together, activated, controlled._

_"You are not permitted to be here, doctor." Mr. Hand's voice, and when John whirls to look for Daniel the being strikes him. No, he is Daniel, John realizes. These are his own memories, extracted, somehow given to him._

_They end abruptly, then open to the same - the machine in front of him, moving, turning. Mr. Hand inevitably finding him._

_"We are beginning to suspect that you like being punished," Mr. Hand hisses, and John hears himself sob in terror before the memory blanks again._

_"Stop hurting him!" he wants to yell, but the memories continue. He comes to understand the machine, the power it holds. What he needs to do to take control of it._

_"You must defeat them," Daniel says in his memories - small, now. John is an adult. They stand on the bank of the river in the dark. "If you can't, they will do this to us forever. They will manipulate us, rape our memories again and again. Let us die and kill ourselves and they won't care. They'll never find what they're looking for. You're the only one who can save us, and by giving you these memories I'm taking away your agency as much as they've taken mine._

_But he's always wanted to defeat them, John wants to say. Even before he knew the truth. He wants an end to the darkness, the questions. The pain. He wants to undo the Walenskis of the world. He wants to protect the ones like Emma. He wants to give the ones like Frank the freedom to live their own lives._

_"You should know that I chose this role," Daniel murmurs to him, smaller and more vulnerable than John has ever seen him. "I could give you a hundred excuses. I could give you what remains of my memories so that you could see why, but I won't. This is my burden, my guilt to bear. I could have stayed innocent in this. But I looked at the people going crazy from their flawed imprints and I saw an opportunity to save myself from that fate. To be something more, to set myself apart. I... thought it would be worth the cost."_

_I forgive you, John wants to say. But around him something is happening. Noise, anger. A cry of pain. Daniel._

_"The world can be what you make of it," the Daniel in his memories says urgently. "But you must act, John. **Now.** "_

~~~

 

With a new lifetime of knowledge, using his powers was as simple as breathing. Re-wiring the machines to respond only to his will, he dissolved his bonds and set himself back on his feet.

Daniel was on his knees, gasping for breath, Mr Hand's fingers tight around his throat. The black syringe was shattered in pieces on the floor below him. That, too, was easy enough to deal with: a thought in his direction and Mr Hand jerked backwards with a hiss of pain, clutching his hand to his chest.

It was easy to push them all away, a blast of energy that sent figures flying into the stone walls of the arena, which cracked and shattered, falling away out into darkness. He could hear them as they fell, hear the buzzing of their anger. They'd regroup soon enough, but he couldn't focus on that yet. He held a hand out to Daniel. "Daniel. Are you with me?"

Daniel pushed himself to his feet, breathless, and shook his head. "How can you want me to be? I - John, I - "

"I know," John replied. "I know everything, now."

Behind his glasses, Daniel's eyes grew bright. "I betrayed you. Just like I've betrayed everyone in this city."

"Yes. And I refused to give you my trust and I treated you like a prize to be won, without trying to understand your feelings. But I love you. I don't want to do this without you." 

John could see the dark-robed figures begin to swarm into the arena, and he took a step closer to Daniel, extending his reach, palm open. "Please. I need you. If I'm a weapon now, I need a champion to wield me. I need you. If you want things to change - if you want to save me, Daniel - I need you. Please."

Daniel let out a soft breath, like a sob. But then he lifted one trembling hand, finally taking John's outstretched one. "Let's take the city back," he whispered, and that was all that mattered. Destroying the Masters, reclaiming the city - it was all as easy as breathing with Daniel in his arms.

~~~


	17. Croissance

John awoke to brightness and warmth, and for a long moment he lay still, eyelids closed against the sunshine. He let himself indulge, stretching his awareness out into the house, its half-finished rooms, the furniture just enough for his use. For now.

After that he moved past the house, down the cliffs it was perched on. Out along the peninsula of Shell Beach, over the colourful, picturesque buildings, just a little worn. The sun. The sea.

Finally he stretched, taking up as much room in the too-large bed as he could manage. It still seemed empty. But hopefully that, like the rest of the absence in the house, would change in time.

"I'm not ready to leave yet," Daniel had told quietly, when John had told him what his plans were. After the dust had settled, after the city had been reclaimed. "I need to say here, there's... some things I need to work through. Some things I need to do. I..." he stopped, looking up at him anxiously. "Can I ask for your help?"

"I'll do anything you need me to," John had promised.

When he'd come back into the city to meet him that night, the last thing he'd expected to find was the bag of syringes in Daniel's hand. Daniel placed a hand on his arm, clearly sensing his distress before he'd had to say anything.

"John. The last thing I want is to continue their experiments. Please believe me. The arena is buried forever. And I've agonized over this. But there are people that were left in brutal circumstances. It would not only be dangerous to the stability of the city to leave them that way, but... it's unfair to them."

"So we're going to change them?" John shook his head. "How many?"

"I am," Daniel replied, taking his hand. "This is on me, John. But it will be as many as it takes to make things right." He stopped, drawing a soft breath. "... can you trust me?"

It still sat wrong with him. But not trusting Daniel was not an option. Not anymore. So he followed him out into the city, and when Daniel asked he put people to sleep, altered the world around them as Daniel neatly injected them. Then, at the end of the night, Daniel had pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth and disappeared into the darkness.

He spent his days - afternoons, really - in the sun, coming to know Shell Beach in person. He'd been the only one there, that first day, but as the weeks went by people were slowly beginning to settle, to open the shops and hotels and restaurants. Sometimes he recognized the faces, far more lively in the sunshine than they had been under Daniel's syringe. He tried not to wonder about who they'd been before, and if they'd really be happier in Shell Beach.

He wasn't sure if he was any happier in Shell Beach.

Eventually he'd have to find a job - something he was just now realizing that he'd never had or questioned - or some productive to occupy his days. But for the time being, he just tried to distract himself and push away the nagging fear that he was waiting in vain.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered that night, as he found himself staring down at the familiar blond curls and the rouged lips that had spoken so angrily the last time he'd seen them. "She's suffered so much...."

Daniel set the syringe down next to May's pillow, moved to take John's hand in both of his. "We took something from her," he said quietly. "At the behest of the Masters. But we still took it. I want to give it back. That's all. I promise you, John."

John drew a deep breath and nodded, looking away as Daniel pulled the trigger. No-one else he saw that night surprised him after that, but when they parted at the end of the night he had to fight to keep from begging Daniel to reassure him again, holding him tight.

Daniel returned his embrace, patient and quiet, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth when he finally pulled away. "Thank you for your help, John. I'll see you soon."

Soon, John thought, and nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

~~~

 

May Jennings awoke in darkness, the clang of her alarm shrill and unwelcome. She groaned, groping to turn it off, groping for the light. Four AM. But she pulled herself out of bed. There was much to do.

Soon enough she was dressed and pressed and on the first bus out to Shell Beach. There was a few other people on the bus, but everyone was comfortably quiet, and May let herself gaze out the window as the bus left the city and took the road outside the walls, past East Point and towards the beach. The sky beyond the ocean was starting to change to tones of pink and purple, promising the beautiful day to come.

She had much baking to do before the cafe opened. Perhaps she'd try her hand at Madeleines. Business was just busy enough to justify hiring someone to help her, but until she found the right person she could keep up on her own.

Such a beautiful town, she found herself thinking as she strolled along the boardwalk.

Perhaps she should move closer to work.

~~~

 

"I'll see you around, yeah? You need any help out there you can always call me."

"Of course. Thank you." Leon Hassel smiled at his boss, signing the final transfer paperwork. Being assistant manager on the night shift at a hotel was beginning to wear on him - even a hotel as nice as The Grand. Moving on to manage the smaller, quieter new location in Shell Beach was a dream come true. He had just enough time to go home and catch some sleep before he needed to arrive before lunch.

Perhaps if he liked the town enough he'd move.

~~~

 

Anna Williams let herself sleep in, and felt much better when she woke than she had the night before. She'd fallen asleep on shift at the cinema, and though thankfully no-one had caught her, she still felt guilty about it. The cinema was beautiful, and she loved meeting people, but... the late nights were clearly beginning to wear on her.

The morning paper at her apartment door had an article about the opening of some grand new hotel in Shell Beach. Anna sipped her coffee, smiling as she read it. There was a pretty advertisement below it, printed in full colour, a drawing of a pretty blonde woman in a polka dot bikini holding a beach ball in the waves. The city had added a new bus route to make it easier to get out there, and Anna found herself thinking it had been far too long since she'd seen the ocean.

Then again, she was off work until Wednesday night. Perhaps a day trip was just the thing that she needed. Surely it would be warm enough that she could even wear that pretty new dress with the indigo flowers that had been sitting in her closet.... 

Shell Beach was even more beautiful than she remembered it when she arrived, the sea air fresh and crisp, contrasting with the warmth of the sun on her skin. She decided to take a stroll down Beach Street, at the edge of the town, looking out into the ocean. A few boats were already at sail out on the bay, and though it was still before lunch there was already a few families out on the sand. One nearby was setting up a beach umbrella as two little girls ran across the sand, giggling, and Anna stopped to watch them. She'd worn flats and stockings, which she realized too late was a terrible idea when all she wanted to do was feel the sand between her toes.

Next time, she promised herself, and turned from the ocean to continue on.

There was a dark-haired man holding a coffee on the boardwalk a ways away, staring at her openly, with green eyes that were unusually striking. Anna stopped, self conscious at the unexpected attention. "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry." The man shook his head, and smiled. "Just got lost in thought. I haven't seen you around - are you new here?"

"Just here for the day," she responded, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to flirt with him. He was very pretty....

He nodded. "Well, I hope you enjoy it. There's a really nice little cafe just over there that just opened up, I can't recommend it enough."

"Oh... thank you. I'll check it out." Anna tried to to feel disappointed as he moved on. Then she looked in the direction he'd indicated, the red and white awning over the small outdoor seating area colourfully bright.

Maybe another coffee was a good idea.

There was a small help wanted sign in the window, and when Anna stepped inside the cafe was quiet and cozy, empty except for an older man enjoying a cup of coffee in a seat near the window.

"I'll be right with you!" a voice called from the back at the sound of the bell, and a few moments later a blond woman in a red and white polka dot apron emerged from the kitchen, a smudge of flour on her cheek. She smiled when she saw Anna, cheeks dimpling. "Good morning, sugar. Sorry for the wait, I was pulling scones out of the oven. What can I get you?"

Anna hesitated. She'd just intended a coffee, but there was something about the woman made her want to stick around a bit longer. She looked like the woman in the advertisement in the paper, Anna found herself thinking. How beautiful. "Scones? Are they cool enough to eat yet?"

"Let me bring one out and we can check." The woman winked, and disappeared again, coming back with two scones on a plate, still steaming, and a segmented dish with a generous heaping of strawberry preserves and what looked like clotted cream. "I think they're a little too hot still," she said with an apologetic smile. "Can I make you a coffee while we wait?"

"Sure." Anna settled into a seat at the counter, watching the woman work. "I'm Anna, by the way."

"That's a pretty name." The woman's cheeks dimpled again. "I'm May."

She liked May's scones very much, Anna decided, slathering a piece with jam and cream. She liked May as well, smiling as the woman lingered at the counter with her own scone. She was easy to talk to, and something about her smile was even brighter than the sunshine outside.

"Are you really here all by yourself?" she asked, and May's smile looked pleased.

"For now. I only opened this place a few weeks ago. I had some inheritance money, so... this is what my grandfather really wanted for me."

"You own the cafe?" Anna asked in amazement.

May nodded, the pleased flush colouring her cheeks making her look even cuter. "Now I just have to hope I can do a good job."

"If these scones are any indication, you're going to do just fine. I wish I was half as good a baker. I really enjoy it, but feel like I never have time."

"Well, if you wanted to give it a go, I am hiring." May gave a wink, and Anna laughed.

"If I had any cafe experience at all, I'd be here in an instant."

"Who said anything about experience? I can teach you that." She glanced up as the bell at the cafe door rang. "Be right back, sweetheart," she said, patting Anna's hand before stepping away to the till.

Anna felt a thrill of excitement in the pit of her stomach at her words. There was something in the woman's smile that made her feel warm and welcome and somehow flustered all at once. When had she last felt like that? She watched as May helped the man who'd come in, a soft-spoken blond with a strange scar by his eye behind gold-rimmed glasses. He glanced over to Anna as he waited, giving her a polite nod. He seemed so happy, buying his coffee from May. It would be so nice to spend her days in such a bright, warm place, she thought. With such a kind, wonderful woman.

"You'd really teach me?" she asked when May returned, flushing at how breathless and excited she sounded.

May nodded. "I like your attitude, sugar. If you think you'd like it here."

Licking a spot of cream from her fingers, Anna couldn't imagine not liking it here. Especially after meeting May.

"I think I really will," she said softly, and felt herself melt at the way May's smile lit up at her words.

~~~

 

The Shell Beach Grand was already bustling when Leon arrived, the staff about their work. He found his new office and took care of the morning essentials, and by the time he stepped out again the check-in line was a few people deep. Working the desk was as easy as breathing for him, even in a new hotel, so he nodded to the desk girl and stepped into the empty station. "Can I help the next person?"

A man stepped out of line to approach him, and Leon forgot to breathe.

God, Shell Beach must breed them well, he fond himself thinking, and then felt guilty for his own salaciousness. But it was hard to think anything else when the man in front of him was the most appealing thing he'd laid eyes on in - god, years? His hair was just starting to gray at his temples under his fedora, and his suit was perfectly tailored and clearly very expensive, but still understated. He was exactly the kind of man that Leon always dreamed about.

Distracted by his attraction, it took him a moment to realize that the man was staring at him, brows knit in confusion. Had Leon missed something he'd said? He felt his cheeks heat and smiled, trying to remain calm. "I'm sorry?"

"Pardon?"

Had he not said something? "I - oh. Um. May I help you, sir?"

"Ah - yes. I have a reservation under Burrows," the man said, and god, he was even more handsome when he smiled. "Frank?"

Leon forced himself to breathe, smiling. "Of course, sir," he said, taking the reservations book and finding his name. "May I ask how long you'll be staying?"

Frank gave an apologetic smile. "I'm not sure yet. Is that alright? My cousin recently left me his salle, I haven't decided yet if I'm going to keep it or sell it. It will take some time to sort out."

"There's a salle in town?" How long had it been since he'd practiced? Perhaps if it was close, and open around the hotel schedule....

"Just down the road," Frank told him, smiling. "You fence?"

"I'm a bit out of practice. Maybe I'll come look into it?"

"Come by anytime," Frank replied, and Leon tried not to lose himself in the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, but... have we met before? I feel like I know you somehow."

Leon tried to think back across the sea of names and faces he saw every night at the hotel. Surely he would have remembered someone so handsome. "Have you stayed at the Grand in the City?"

Frank shook his head. "I don't think so, I live in the city. I think I took my wife to the restaurant...."

 _Married._ Leon's heart sank, but he forced a smile. He turned to get the key to Frank's room, offering it to him. "Perhaps that's what it was then. Will you need a second key for the Mrs, sir?"

"Oh - no. I'm not..." Frank gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. "There's no Mrs anymore." 

"...oh." Leon managed, then suddenly realized how rude he sounded. "I mean - I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Please excuse me."

Frank gave a soundless laugh, fingers brushing Leon's as he took the key from him. "Thank you, Mr..." He glanced to Leon's name tag. "Hassel."

Leon nodded. "Please call the desk at any time if there's anything we can do for you, sir. The restaurant is open from six am till nine, eleven until three for lunch, and six pm until midnight. There's information in your room about the pool, billiards room and spa services. We can bill you at a weekly rate, please settle with us every seven days."

"Of course." Frank tipped his hat, smiling. "Thank you."

Part of Leon wished that Frank would ask a question or ten, just to have a reason to speak with him longer, lineup be damned. He forced himself to keep smiling as the man started to leave, taking a few steps away. But before Leon could call for the next patron, Frank turned, long strides quickly bringing him back to the desk.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, words strangely breathless. "I know I'm being bold, so please don't feel obligated to oblige me out of politeness, or - um - "

Leon felt his pulse quicken. "Sir?"

Frank drew a deep breath. "What are you doing for dinner tonight, Mr. Hassel?"

In the rush of excitement, Leon forgot how to breathe again, gasping in a soft laugh as he smiled. "I - ah - I have no plans. And, um, it's Leon."

"Leon." Frank leaned closer, smiling. "Will you let me treat you? I can show you the salle, if you like."

Leon nodded, feeling like he must be glowing. "I'd like that very much. I'm finished here at seven."

"I'll meet you then."

It took a moment after he'd left for Leon to gather himself, turning to the next guest with a smile. Another well dressed gentleman; blond, in a buff coloured suit and a summer hat. Perhaps Shell Beach did breed them handsome, he thought, though this one was much slighter than Frank, not nearly as handsome or distinguished. "Good morning. Do you have a reservation, sir?"

"No reservation," the man said, straightening gold-rimmed glasses. "Just wondering if I could ask the dinner hours for your restaurant."

"Six pm until midnight," Leon replied. "Would you like to make a reservation?"

The man shook his head, though he seemed unusually pleased. "No thank you. Thank-you, Leon."

"Anytime, sir," Leon replied, wondering as the man left how he'd known his name. Perhaps he'd just been listening to his conversation with Frank, he decided, and thought nothing more of it.

~~~


	18. Liberté

Slowly making his way down Shell Street, John contemplated the restaurants and shops. It was an hour past lunch time, but he'd had a muffin with his coffee at the new cafe where he'd unexpectedly found May. Eating again seemed like too much.

He paused in front of a men's wear store, contemplating the display of smartly striped boater jackets on mannequins in the window. He could go in and try one on, but what would be the point when he could make it himself? For a moment the urge to do so on the spot was strong, ad only a strong mental admonition prevented it. In any case, where would he wear it? And who would care?

"John."

The sound of his name, soft and low and familiar, made his heart jump into his throat. John turned to find Daniel a few feet away on the sidewalk, a small smile playing about well-shaped lips. He looked somehow different from when John had seen him the night before; in the bright sunshine his skin seemed even more appealing, blond hair shining almost white. Or perhaps it was the change in wardrobe; Daniel's suit was buff coloured to match the straw hat perched on top of his head, smart and light and completely suitable to Shell Beach. Far more suitable than his own clothes, John realized, slightly ashamed that he hadn't before thought to change them from the dark and sombre tones he'd worn in the city.

"You're here," he blurted, not knowing what else to say.

Daniel lowered his head slightly, smile widening. "Yes. We're finished, John."

 _Finished._ What did he mean by that? Had he come all the way to Shell Beach to say goodbye? "Um... what do you - " he started, but before he could say more Daniel had crossed the sidewalk to meet him, cupping John's cheek gently as he arched up to claim his lips with a kiss.

The press of his lips awakened such a well of emotion that John had to choke back a sob. He pulled Daniel closer, finally realizing how starved he'd felt without this affection, how badly he'd needed Daniel's love.

"I'm here," Daniel murmured against his lips, fingers stroking into his hair. "I'm ready for this. I'm sorry it took so long, John."

John shook his head, and kissed him again. "It's okay. Just tell me you'll stay. I can take you to our house, I can... I can build you a new one if you want, I - "

"Our house?" Daniel pulled back enough to look up at him, smiling, the tips of his ears flushed cutely pink.

John nodded. "If you'd like it to be. It's - it's not exactly finished inside. I've been waiting for you. I mean - I didn't know when you would come, or if you would, or if you'd even still want to be with me - but I - I was really hoping...."

His lover's eyes grew bright, and Daniel pulled him into another kiss with a soft gasp, harder, trembling. "Of course I want to," he whispered. "I want so badly to be with you. You're my Champion, John."

John shook his head, heart aching with adoration. "No, I'm not. You're mine."

~~~

He felt nervous, taking Daniel up the front walk, past the hedges and flowerbeds and up onto the porch. "I can change things if you don't like them. Even the outside, no-one's really come this far up the peninsula yet. We don't even have to stay here if you don't want. We can find a place in town, or I could make an island, or - "

"I like it here," Daniel replied, slipping a hand into his, and John forced himself to get the door open and get Daniel into the front entry before pulling him close again.

"I missed you so much," he breathed, stroking his fingers up under Daniel's jacket and around his waist, drinking in the warmth of his form. "God, I want you so much...."

Daniel gave a soft, needy groan into his mouth, wrapping both arms up around his neck and molding himself against his body. "Being without this has been torture," he breathed, and as much as John longed to ask him why he'd kept his distance for so long, the last thing he wanted to do was ruin the warmth of the moment.

"Our bed is really big," he offered, and Daniel laughed breathlessly.

"Don't tease me," he breathed. "Show me. Take me to bed, John."

He'd drawn the curtains when he'd woken up that morning, the sunshine streaming bright through the large bay windows above the bed and the glass doors that led out to the small rooftop balcony. He thought about pulling them, but they were far enough away from the town that the extra privacy was unnecessary. John felt a surge of satisfaction at the way Daniel's eyes lit up as he looked around before pulling John into another kiss. "It's lovely. It's perfect."

"I made it for you," John admitted, stroking hands over his hips, cupping the round softness of his ass. "After everything... I just wanted things to be warm and bright and beautiful for you...."

"I love it," Daniel whispered, breath catching on the words, "I'm so grateful. For this. That you want this. Even after... everything."

John shook his head, moving one hand up to stroke the small of his back through his fine cotton shirt. "You saved me, Daniel. I'm not angry about anything. That syringe... you always wanted to save me. I didn't understand, I couldn't see past the duels. But that Thing I fought was right. Even if I'd defeated him, it wouldn't have changed anything. It wouldn't have been enough. The only one who could change things was you."

He watched Daniel grow more overwhelmed at his words, finally arching up to kiss him, trembling. "Please make love to me," he whispered. "I can't...."

"However you like," John promised, and kissed him again, letting his desire take full reign. As nice as Daniel's smart new suit felt under his fingers, it was quickly becoming nothing more than a barrier to what he really wanted. He licked into Daniel's mouth with a groan as he started to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, encouraged by his lover's needy little whimpers as he started to tug at John's belt, fingers warm through his slacks against John's half-hard cock.

"Too many buttons," John growled, frustrated, and then instantly realized that buttons didn't matter anymore. A thought was all it took for them to slide undone on their own, along with Daniel's belt, his slacks, so that he could pull his clothing from his body as quickly as he wanted to. His own clothes weren't important, so he destroyed them with a thought, finally pulling Daniel's naked form against his own with a growl.

Daniel laughed, delighted, kissing him again as he rocked up against him, the delightful hardness of his cock pressing into John's thigh. "Perfect," he whispered, then drew back, catching John's hands. "Do you have lube?"

John glanced towards his bedside table. "I do now."

"Then come with me." Daniel smiled, picking up the bottle from where John had willed it into being. Then he drew John, not towards the bed, but to the french doors out onto the balcony.

John found himself smiling, thrilled at the idea. "Out here?"

Daniel nodded, cheeks flushing pink as he opened the door. "I... I'd like you to make love to me in the sunshine. Is that alright?"

"Absolutely." John claimed his mouth again, pushing him out onto the deck, up against the rail. He pushed his hands between Daniel's ass and the wooden slats, cupping and squeezing as they rocked together, until Daniel was breathless and whimpering, wrapping one leg up over his hip, writhing against him.

Letting go of Daniel's ass to take the lube from him was the last thing he wanted to do, but creating more lube was as easy as breathing. He teased two slick fingertips against him, and Daniel gave a little desperate cry into his mouth. "Yes," he gasped, trying to press back against them. "God, please - just like this, John...."

John groaned at his words, pressing his fingers up into him, slicking him, stretching him. The wooden railing wouldn't be comfortable for Daniel, but he could change that easily enough too, and he reached out with his mind to smooth the edge, cover it with padded leather, raise it higher, secure against his back. "Just like this?" he breathed, twisting his fingers up inside him and groaning at the cry it pulled from Daniel's lips. "You want me to fuck you up against the rail just like this?"

"Oh god yes - " Daniel fumbled with the bottle of lube one handed, dropping it, wrapping slick fingers around John's cock. It was all the encouragement John needed to lift him, bracing him against the rail with his body. A touch of power held Daniel secure as he guided the head of his cock to press against him, rocking insistently until he was pushing up into him, groaning at the exquisite feeling of Daniel's body stretching around him.

Daniel's cry of pleasure was exaltant, thighs tightening against his sides, fingers digging into his back. "My love," he gasped, cry catching in his throat as John's hips snapped up into him, burying himself deep. "God, John - !"

"So perfect." John found his rhythm easily, nipping and sucking at Daniel's lips breathlessly as they came together again and again. It felt powerful to have him like this, and perfectly desperate after so long wanting, after so long without him. "My champion," he breathed, because after all that had happened, it was all he could think. Daniel had saved him; and now he'd do anything for him. "My love. My Daniel...."

Daniel gave a choked sob against his mouth. "Harder," he gasped, and John managed to shift to hook his forearms under his knees, pulling them higher. That was the angle he needed to bury himself to the hilt, and he echoed Daniel's cry of pleasure, feeling his lover shudder around him in pleasure as he drove up into him again and again, hips smacking up into his ass. The way it made Daniel wail in pleasure was perfect, and John dropped his lips to his neck, sucking and biting, groaning into his skin.

"So good fucking you," he managed to gasp, closing his eyes to everything but sensation. "Whatever, whenever you want, darling... fuck, being inside you, pleasing you...."

"Yes," Daniel whimpered, and John could feel him tense, nails digging into his back. "Yes, god, always - always yours, god, John - !"

A few more thrusts was all it took, and John drank in the sensation of his lover's orgasm, of the slickness of his seed spurting over his chest and stomach as he clenched and fluttered around his cock. That too felt powerful, triumphant, and after so long starved John's body followed without delay, pleasure washing through him as he spilled inside him, hot and bright and perfect.

He held Daniel tightly, face pressed to his hair, trying to engrave the moment into his memory. The warmth, the sunshine, the joy of having Daniel in his arms, of the pleasure they'd found together. The overwhelming, aching adoration he felt for him.

"I love you," Daniel whispered, nuzzling his face against John's hair, and for a moment John couldn't speak to answer him, drawing back and kissing him, feeling himself shiver. It was all too overwhelming, so he reached out to create a wide, cushioned lounge bench behind them, stepping back to lay Daniel down gently into the crook and curling around him.

"You'll stay, won't you?" He asked again before he could stop himself, anxious. He kissed Daniel's palm as he brought it up to caress his face.

"If you want me to," he said, curling fingers into John's hair. "But... this longing you have for me... I've taken your childhood, John. Everything you know is that, and the duels. Are you sure you don't want more than that?"

"I do want more than that," John replied, unable to keep back a pout at his words. "I want you and this house and the sunshine and maybe a boat, and just... taking however long we need to figure out what a normal life is like. When I told you that all I needed to be happy was to be with you I meant it. That has nothing to do with the memories you gave me and everything with how I feel about you." He reached up to stroke his fingers through Daniel's hair, which trailed through his fingers like spun gold in the sunlight. "But I think the question is... do you want more than that? I don't want you to feel obligated to be with me when you've been imprisoned for so long. I don't want to be another master to you. I'm... really afraid of that."

Daniel smiled under his touch. "But you've already proven that you're not, my love. Don't you see? All this time you've given me to set the city to right. You've waited so patiently for me, without asking anything for yourself. It's made me love you more than ever before."

John swallowed. "Is that why you needed so much time?" he asked, his voice coming out very small.

Daniel gave a soft hum, arching up to kiss him. "No. And I'm sorry to have left you alone for so long. I promise you that it had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with wanting to be worthy of you. Of this beautiful place that you've built. I needed to set things right. To make sure that everyone I hurt will have the opportunity to enjoy this beautiful place. I needed to make recompense. That's how you've helped me. And now we're finished, and everything is as it should be. Now we have time to figure out what normal will be for us. Just like you want, John."

It had always been easy to let himself believe Daniel, far easier than the alternative. But now there was no nagging feeling of wariness to push away. He'd given Daniel his freedom, and he'd come back. He'd come home. "I'd really like that," John said, and smiled, cuddling closer to kiss him again, slow and sweet. Then he drew back, confused. "... what do you mean, everything is as it should be?"

Daniel gave a soft, pleased hum. "If you don't mind waiting, I think the best way to explain would be to take you for dinner tonight and show you."

"Tonight?" John smiled, running his thumb along Daniel's bottom lip, smiling wider as he kissed it. "Whatever shall we do in the meantime?"

Daniel's eyes closed briefly as he captured John's thumb between his lips, sucking on it, running his tongue over the tip as he released it. "Oh, John," he murmured, voice low and throaty, "I haven't the faintest idea."

~~~

 

John had yet to set foot in the Shell Beach Grand Hotel or its restaurant, despite the time he'd spent in the town. It seemed strange to consider visiting such an upscale place alone just to eat, especially when he could create whatever he needed. Now he was glad of it. It felt right, to finally be going there with Daniel, dressed in neat dinner jackets he'd created that afternoon between rounds of slow, decadent lovemaking.

He covered Daniel's hand on his arm as he followed the Maitre'd towards their table, giving it a squeeze. Then he caught sight of something - someone - and froze.

"Is everything alright, sir?" The Maitre'd turned, and Daniel stepped past him to give her a smile.

"Yes, this table is perfect. Thank you. John?"

John pulled his attention back and nodded, pulling out Daniel's chair for him before claiming the second himself. He leaned closer as the Maitre'd left. "Frank's here. And Leon?"

Daniel nodded, pleased, looking back towards the table where the two men sat. Despite being in the middle of the crowded restaurant, both clearly had eyes only for each other, speaking quietly, their food half forgotten.

John hadn't realized how worried he'd been about them until the relief he felt now. "That's why we saw them last night, then. You gave them their memories back."

"Not... exactly." Daniel's lips pressed together, and he looked down. "Their real memories of each other are not something I could replicate. I could have approximated it, of course. And it was something that I agonized over for some time, John. Whether or not it was right to make such a decision. But in the end... I thought they deserved more than that. An opportunity to find each other again, to start over without all the complications of the duels and the Masters and their manipulations. Somewhere bright and beautiful. Like this." He twisted his napkin in his fingers. "Do you think it wrong of me?"

John looked back towards them, to the way that they smiled at each other. Like they were discovering that nothing in the world was more delightful than each other. "No," he said, without any doubt. "No, not at all. It was absolutely the right thing to do. They deserve that. And that's why I saw Emma this morning, wasn't it? And May, in that little cafe."

Daniel nodded. "She isn't Emma anymore, John. None of them are who they were. But they have found each other, and this place."

As if on cue, John caught sight of the two women entering the restaurant, following the Maitre'd. They still held hands as they passed him, fingers laced together, and Emma laughed at something May murmured to her, breathless and dizzy with happiness.

"This is why we've been changing people?" John looked back to Daniel. "To let them be here? To help them find each other?"

"To let everyone be here," Daniel replied softly. "You made such a beautiful place. I didn't want it to be just a lonely ghost town. I wanted Shell Beach to be more than just a longing, or some half-forgotten memory. I wanted us to give this place to the city together."

For a long moment John could only stare at him, the implications of his words sinking in. Then he looked out into the restaurant, nearly every table full of people talking and laughing as the sky darkened into shades of pink and purple behind the windows.

This place, that he had built. That Daniel had peopled.

A future.

"It's perfect," John managed to say around the lump in his throat, finally understanding what it meant to change the world.

~~~ Finish ~~~


End file.
